Recess: High School Years
by Ruff Desperado
Summary: TJ went to middle school at Roosevelt County, Spinelli studied aboard in Italy, Vince moved away to Beverly Hills, Gretchen took her education to Oklahoma, whilst Gus and Mikey went to Spiro T Agnew. It is only until Vince surprises TJ with an overdue visit, that TJ's hopes of sharing his high school experiences with his five best friends becomes a reality.
1. Prologue: The last recess

**Recess High school years**

 **Prologue: The last recess**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode (Pilot)

* * *

The sun hits the playground's blacktop as the children of all grades wait for King TJ's final act of decree. The throne however, a mud colored arm chair, is left empty. The kids of Third Street school in their own ways, bid farewell to the end of another school year. The Diggers wrap up their final dig, removing their sign of 'china or bust' that's crossed out. Butch, the keeper of the school tales, stands in the shade forewarning unsuspecting six graders that the trials and tribulations of middle school are upon them. The Swinger girl, feeling accomplished by swinging over the top only the third time this year, talks to other girls in her grade. One of them being Upside down girl, who is very much used to using her downside-up peripheral.

At the far end of the playground beyond the sign 'Keep Out' locking away the kindergartners, there is a fire brewing. The body painted tribe frolic around their old dolls, teddies and coloring books as they fuel the flames.

Miss Klemperer bellows, "no, no, no you don't, you little savages!" as she sprays her fire extinguisher to no avail; her neck cast restricts her efforts as it stiffens up her frantic movements.

On the other side of the playground, the Ashleys bundle together in their summer dresses. The Tylers, their younger brothers, have taken over their infamous 'Ashley Clubhouse'. The collage of acceptable boys is replaced with cars, cartoons and comic books. The sophisticated interior décor is now filled with arcade machines and wallpaper with monster trucks on them. The only part of the clubhouse left unchanged is the candy spa, which is still filled with the assortment of the most expensive imported chocolates their Daddy's can buy.

Ashley B stands ahead of the clubhouse. "Oh Ashleys, this like, _totally_ goes against the whole lady code of fashion and accessories, but I regret putting on makeup today," she says as she wipes her tears away, smearing her foundation.

Spinelli steps on to the scene. "Are you powder puffs done crying already?" she asks as she strolls by.

Ashley A lifts her head at her. "We've never seen eye to eye, have we Spin-ugly? But—" she says blubbering her words. "But, but, I'm gonna miss you. Aren't we girls?"

Ashley A begins to hug Spinelli as all the other Ashleys join in. Their faces up, close and personal together.

"Ugh! Get off me!" Spinelli cries, as she lets go of their grasp.

Ashley A looks back at her. "Maybe one day you'll understand the importance of style and fashion," she says straightening her pink frock.

Spinelli is almost awestruck at how serious Ashley A is. "Well, I came over just to say, be ready for King TJ's surprise, its going to be amazing, and, uh." Spinelli pauses looking at her boots. "I guess you big headed spoiled brat barbies are all right."

Surprisingly the Ashleys beam from ear to ear from Spinelli's remark, and quickly hug her again individually. Spinelli makes a wry smile and leaves them as they were standing before. She walks towards the diggers as the relentless force of Miss Finster stops her with her typical deadly stare.

"Miss Finster! I didn't do nothing," Spinelli goes.

"No Spinelli," Miss Finster replies, with a shake of her head. "It's a good thing what you did there. I know you don't like the Ashleys. It's really big of you to hold back your grudges like that."

"Ah, it was nothing really," brags Spinelli, flexing her arm.

"No I mean, I've seen you grow up from a baby to a young woman," Miss Finster says. "There's a big world out there kiddo, just waiting for you to put out your heart, just for it to be spat right back out again. Look, what I'm trying to say is that society may say its wrong for girls to be anything but deity and fragile but remember to be true to yourself. And if you ever need anyone, I'm here."

"Thanks Miss Finster."

"I made a promise to Aggie at Guam to look after her granddaughter."

Randall comes approaching, with that, Spinelli takes that as her cue to leave.

Randall gives a scorning stare at Spinelli as she passes. "I haven't seen Detweiler or his friends all recess, maybe Spinelli knows something," he suggests, stroking his chin.

Miss Finster's scowl flashes back. "Stay vigilant boy. A time of the year like this is just an invitation for hooliganism," she replies, now looking down at Randall. "TJ thinks he can have one over on me but he's unaware of the cavalry I've set up."

"What do you mean Miss Finster?" asks Randall.

"Look dear boy," says Miss Finster as she points towards the school roof, the doors and all around the playground. "I have organized all the hall monitors from Spirow T. Agnew middle school to govern the playground to stop any miscreants before they try anything." She gives a menacing wince. "Any person caught will have a disciplinary hearing so long, their children's children will feel it."

* * *

Spencer, the second grader, looks around to see if the coast is clear. At the very bottom of the jungle gym he steps up to the tic-tac-toe panel. He gives it five spins and one longer whirl in the middle, unlocking the code combination to unveil a secret passageway. He slides down to the bottom with his whole crew waiting for him. The clubhouse is full of water balloons, stink bombs, and some even more elaborate props.

King TJ took power to overthrow King Freddy in the big 'Dirt-clod revolt' last year, that will forever be part of Third Street school history. Many students had to see the nurse that day. King Freddy's madness of power became unfathomable and he had to be stopped. The bubble gum tax had kids at the point of stealing money from their own parents to survive. There were sheds of violence with noogies, wedgies and Chinese burns. TJ and the fifth graders prevailed and restored order. One of TJ's first acts as king was to change the 'Fifth and Sixth Graders Club' to a free-for-all getaway for everybody. He renamed it 'Crazy Monkey Kidz', on the grounds that visitors can only join if they want to participate in planning and executing a prank.

"I got the walkie talkies!" Spencer announces to the group.

TJ waves Spencer in, being the only one to acknowledge him. Hector is asking Gus for advice. Gilbert is stretching his hamstrings and calves with Vince. Dylan is making a strap for his dual water guns as Mikey stirs a pot full of tomato surprise. Emma is building a mechanical device with Gretchen, and Cindy is concentrating perched on a plastic stool as she's continuously squeezing a doll toy, making it's tiny eyes bulge out.

TJ continues his full attention on Spencer. "I called Wacko's Circus & Emporium with the phone I pinched off Menlo," he explains, moving his head over at the big cordless phone on the table. "They'll be here in about twenty minutes."

"How did you ever get Wacko to just drop his things and come to Third street?" asks Spencer.

"It wasn't that hard really. I just said that I'm a really big fan and that some of us are dying kids," TJ says, making a funny face. "I can see why they call him Wacko, he has really high pitched voice."

Cindy stops and sits upright. "Yeah, I think he swallowed a squeaky toy when he was a baby," she says putting down her doll.

Gretchen makes herself heard. "That's just an urban legend," she corrects, taking her attention off her machine.

Near the blackboard Gus and Hector finish up.

Gus continues his talk. "My dad says that moving quietly is the most important part of stealth, we already know our terrain, that's good, but if they catch us, then _whamo_ , its game over," he explains to Hector, looking at the board to see if he's missed anything.

Dylan finishes strapping his water guns and puts ropes on his side like a a cowboy with a lasso.

"Hey Dyl!" Gretchen calls, as she and Emma finish build their clock winding contraption. "If you have any spare rope, remember African tribes have used ropes for Centuries as snare traps on their victims. Lemme show you." She sets him aside and pulls Dylan in with her insight.

The backdrop on the board show the original planning of their pranks. It is completely covered with blueprints and the school map. Pictures of Finster, Randall and Principal Prickly are all crossed off with a red magic marker. 'Operation: Ultimate Super-Tendor Sendoff.' The plan has three different ways to choose from. The sneaky way of putting stink bombs in the vents to stink out the monitors and enter the school with gas masks, courtesy of the Hustler kid. The clever way of disguising some of the gang as hall monitors with masks, makeup and clothes with help from Artsy kid. The all-out way, which is circled, is to attack head on with BARF guns and Duper Drenchers.

Spinelli slides down to the clubhouse. "Okay, I've told everyone! So lets get this show on the road people!" she says, clapping her hands in urgency.

TJ gets back up on his feet. "The plan is set with your code names Black mamba, Athena, the Prince, BFG and Sergeant Looney pants, but I'm," he starts, looking at Spinelli, then Gretchen, then Vince, then Mikey and Gus in turns. He removes his crown to scratch his head momentarily. "I'm gonna let the new guys have this one."

"I knew it," Spinelli says.

Mikey stands astonished. "This is quite valiant of you TJ, even if it is a tad crazy and unexpected," he says, looking worried for a second at Dylan.

Spinelli lifts her palms out, pondering. "I was walking back thinking, once us, the sixth graders leave, the school's gonna need another group to replace us when we're gone," she says, looking at the worried faces of the second graders.

TJ smiles. "Now that _that's_ been established. Does everyone know what to do, and feel that they're still capable of pulling this off? Spence? Cindy? Gil? Dylan?" TJ asks at the kids closest in ear shot to him.

Dylan nods. "Yes, I'm ready, King TJ," he says, strapping on his dual water pistols to his back filled with the acidic tomato surprise soup. "I'm not exactly tubby anymore."

"Yeah," Spenser replies back. "I remember as well in kindergarten, I used to eat paper and think toys were candy."

Everyone laughs as it breaks the tension.

* * *

Cue the music. The new gang get into their positions. Cindy enters the cheese box as a lookout, equipped with her binoculars. Dylan prepares himself behind the trashcan heap outside the cafeteria. Hector and Emma get by the fire escape ladder. Gilbert gets to his spot before Spencer as he peeks around a wall next to two first graders playing pat ball. A fiery sprayed on image of Finster is behind him, with her lizard tongue out, tagged 'Finster is a nefarious dega'.

Spencer's walkie talky scratches on. " _This is King Wizard. Everyone in position?_ " asks TJ, as the six respond back to it. " _Good. Goldy-Spock take it away._ "

"What?" Spencer asks into his walkie talkie, catching up to Gilbert.

" _I want you to take over the operation completely, if you need me, just call me by my code-name. Over and out,_ " TJ says, twiddling his golden yellow hockey helmet crown in his hands.

"Thanks TJ, I won't let you down. Over," Spencer replies, looking excited at Gilbert.

Cindy tells Spencer, from her hiding place, that she spots the monitors covering the roof and the school doors. Spencer tells Gilbert that he should do the first phase himself, seeing as Gilbert is more than twice as fast as he is. Spencer stays by the wall as Gilbert takes off his backpack near where most of the hall monitors are congregating. He lights his firecrackers, throwing some at the guards as the crackers bang and hammer against the monitor's sashes.

"Catch me if you can, you lame-brain teacher pets!" Gilbert shouts as five hall monitors sprint after him, leaving the entrance of the school unguarded.

Spencer enters the school tentatively because its so eerily quiet compared to the upbeat and loud playground. "Okay, next phase," he whispers. "Sly Trooper, I want you to get your way through the restricted area on the roof and get the keys off Lance the AV kid. Oh, and bring Madame Uranium back with you when the coast is clear. Over."

Hector's voice responds, " _wouldn't it make more sense to bring Madame Uranium with me first time? Over._ "

"No, if the worst happens, we can't lose both of you. Over and out."

* * *

Gilbert slows down so the monitors can catch up to him. He reaches the bin heap dead end.

"No where to go blue-hair kid," says one of the hall monitors at Gilbert. "Give up."

Dylan climbs out of his hiding place to see them.

"Who are you supposed to be?" asks another hall monitor. "Look guys, it's Lieutenant porker reporting for doodie," he says, as he mimics an army salute and then nudges his allies to laugh with him.

"Bon Appetit, dumbwads," Dylan goes, whipping out his water guns from his back strap.

He sprays the tomato surprise in their eyes, causing them all to fall in a heap on the ground. Dylan and Gilbert take one look at each other, and at the squirming eighth graders. They tie them up with rope, and drag the two who were laughing at Dylan into the kindergartner's pen.

On the roof, Hector shadows his way passed some guards. His light-up shoes are unaffected by the afternoon sun. He hides, fading in and out of position, until he reaches the air vent. He crawls through the dust infested vent passed Hank the janitor, solving a geometric equation on a board and returning back to moping. Passed the teachers smoking in the teacher's lounge; the lunch ladies carrying secret ice cream to the freezers; to Lance the AV kid whistling away in the bathroom, using the hand dispenser as hair gel. Lance's keys, that can open every door in the entire school twice, is hanging by his side. Hector pokes out his long reach T-Rexisizzor robot claw toy out the gap of the vent.

Lance is focused on the bathroom mirror. "Looking good Lance, oh why thank you Ashley Q, _I do floss,_ " Lance says to himself, looking back at his reflection, using the liquid soap to spike up his hair.

Hector's dinosaur head chops at his keys.

"Sorry, I take my job _oober_ seriously, whats that?" Lance continues, making an imaginary conversation with himself. "No ladies, don't fight over me. Yes Ashleys, there's all of Lance to love."

Hector delicately snatches the keys, retracting the claw back inside the vent, and journeys back on course. He goes by Principle Prickly's office as he's putting a put shot wide, as someone knocks on his door, and enters by the invitation of his grunt.

"What is it now, Miss Lemon?" Prickly asks.

"The kindergartners are causing a ruckus, sir," Miss Lemon starts. "What do you recommend we—?"

"Talking dog movies," Prickly says, not moving his gaze away from his artificial grass golfing strip. "Kindergartners love talking dog movies."

 _That's Lance's job,_ Hector thinks. _To get the kindergartners occupied with films. Without his keys, this is not going to end well for him._

Hector moves quickly and finds his way into a classroom. He ghosts his way inside until, a sixth grader Douglas, takes the walkie talky out of his hands. Douglas, Randall's counterpart snitch, stomps on it, smashing it into three pieces.

"Miss Finster. I've found them, well, one at least," Douglas says on to his earpiece, as he is grabbing hold of Hector's shirt by the V neck.

"Let me go!" Hector cries, avoiding eye contact, focusing on the remains of his walkie talky.

He can hear Finster respond on Douglas' earpiece that she is on her way.

Back on the playground, Emma keeps trying to contact Hector.

"Sly Trooper? Sly Trooper?" asks Emma, as she tries several more times. "Spence, er, I mean Goldilocks or whatever, I've lost connection to Hector. I can't hear him." She grips harder to her machine.

Spencer contemplates calling TJ. He contemplates calling Cindy. He leans against the wall off the hall way.

"Hey! _You're_ not supposed to be here!" a hall monitor shouts, walking at the far end catching Spencer's eye, strapped with a water gun bazooka.

Spencer barges into a classroom. He drags out a table into the hallway. He flips it into cover. The hall way monitors fire water along the hall way.

The monitors talk amongst each other. "This is a 2, 14! I need back up! Some kids are coming from the front!"

The front of the door of the school slams open. Spencer's heart stops. Gilbert appears. His blue hair shines off the sun outside. He shuts the door again behind him.

Gilbert slides next to Spencer. "Thought you might need some help, pal," Gilbert pants, rushing into crouching cover on his side.

"Where's Dyl—? The backpack—we need some ammunition if that's okay with you, dude?" asks Spencer with a relieved grin.

"Nope, that _won't_ be okay," Gilbert replies, as Spencer only now notices Gilbert is unarmed. "See, me and Dylan had this great idea with my backpack."

Gilbert feels Spencer in as water balloons smash against the table.

* * *

Vince, Gretchen, TJ and Spinelli stay dormant at the clubhouse. Most of the attention is on TJ's walkie talkie that is standing upright in the middle of the table.

Vince now looks over at TJ. "I hope you know what you're doing, Teej," he says. "He's only in the second grade."

"Of course I do," TJ replies, with a big grin. "He reminds me of myself. Besides, Spencer will be in the third grade next year, just like the Dude when he became King."

Gretchen adjusts her glasses. "In history it's actually not uncommon to have young kids in power," she says. "Tutankhamun became Pharaoh when he was only eight."

"Exactly Gretch," says TJ, all thankful at her. "I remember when we had to look after most of them when they were our peewee pals. They've come a long way since then."

"Yeah," Spinelli says, giggling, now taking a seat at the round table. "You remember the time Spencer dropped cream chowder all over Becky Benson, when she was trying to cheat the spelling bee?" The other three nod in approval. "She was getting corn out of her hair all week."

"He's the perfect replacement," TJ assures.

Gretchen asks, "so is this it?"

Vince looks around at them and asks back, "of _us_ you mean?"

"I mean the odds of us staying friends is astronomical," Gretchen explains.

The four of them sit in silence for a second.

TJ lets out a sigh and says, "I don't mind if you guys wanna go to camp again like in the fourth grade. There's no need to stay behind with me like last year."

Spinelli lets out a smile. "Come on, Teej," she says. "We're not gonna leave you behind again."

* * *

"Oh, how I'm gonna miss this playground," Mikey says. "The bountiful joy. Being in tune with nature. Recess is a true testament to what being a kid is all about."

"No kidding," Gus replies, hardly listening.

A sweet, nice and loving girl moves up to Gus.

"Hi Gus," Cornchip girl says, wiping off chip crumbles off her fingers on to her dress.

"Hi Cornchip, I guess this is goodbye isn't it?" replies Gus, with his hand digging in his pockets.

"It doesn't have to be, even though are dads never get along, we could still hang around this summer," she insists. "I just wanna thank you for always standing up for me and junk."

"That's no problem, it was nothing. I mean, you know its always good to—" Gus gets interrupted as Cornchip girl pulls him down to her level and kisses him on the cheek.

Gus now in shock, desperately looks for Mikey whose in deep conversation with the Hustler kid.

"That'll do it. Three thousand six hundred and sixty three," the Hustler Kid counts, giving Mikey a box filled with Winger Dingers. Mikey thanks him and hands one back to him. "No thanks. Even though it had to be in installments, I keep my word."

"We don't even call Dylan, Tubby, anymore," says Mikey, in between bites of his Winger Dinger.

"Neither is there anymore of the kindergarten derby," mutters the Hustler kid in a growl. "Go figures."

* * *

"Okay," Spencer says, on his walky talkie. He ruffles his blonde hair as he sketches the school blueprint in his head. "Princess darkness, get into the school from the roof and find Sly, I think he's near the fifth grade science class. It's nearest to the room behind the clock. Uranium follow Darkness."

"Got it, Spock," Cindy replies, leaving her binoculars and making her way to the roof of the school on the other side from Emma.

It is a particular hard decision for Spencer to make. It is important that the clock never reaches two o'clock, because it will indicate the end of recess. Time is running out as the end of recess is near and Cindy is the wild card of the group. One time during the year, Cindy was just supposed to retrieve a bunch of stolen marbles. Take them from the Brittanys, the sisters of the Ashleys, and return them back to their rightful owners. It ended with Cindy forcing all the Brittanys to watch her rip their dolls heads off. She then got offended by something the owners of the marbles said, and she ended up giving all the boys severe titty twisters.

Cindy, who lacks any covertness, is spotted almost immediately.

"Hey little girl, what are you doing all the way up here?" asks a monitor.

In Cindy's head she has already punched and whaled the crap out of all them, throwing half of them off the roof, but asks, "I was wondering if you'd play dollies with me?"

The monitor who asked, gets closer as the others on the roof get out of position.

"Sorry little girl, I have orders to protect the premise," he replies.

Cindy begins to cry and says, "but I got a pretty flower for you." She puts a sunflower up to the hall monitors face. "Smell?"

The hall monitor looks back as the other four of them laugh at him. He puts his nose down to give it a smell. Cindy forces her sunflower right up into his face, completely blurring his vision. The other monitors start spraying their water guns at Cindy. She holds the arm of the eighth grader behind his back and blocks the water. She runs towards the others using the monitor as a human shield knocking each of them to the ground. Ruffling up one of the monitor's hair, she smashes his head repeatedly on the roof. She strangles a monitor's neck with his own tie. She tries to throw one off the roof, but he just hits his head against the outside vent, denting it.

A single hall monitor is left standing. He sprays his water gun at Cindy with her back turned. But its ran out of water.

"You know what?" says the hall monitor putting his hands up, dropping his gun. "I didn't sign up for this, and extra credit is overrated anyway. You win."

With that, he leaves his gun and makes his way off the roof. He walks down the ladder looking eye to eye at a frightened Emma.

"It's all yours," he says to Emma, taking off his hall monitor sash.

Emma, all confused, slowly climbs up on to the roof. She looks at all the boys sprawled on the roof.

"What happened?" Emma asks, tiptoeing around the bodies.

"I'll tell you later, lets finish the operation first," Cindy replies, putting her hand out for Emma.

Cindy and Emma make their way through the school vent and meet Hector with Douglas still holding his shirt.

"Let go of him now!" Cindy orders, narrowing her eyes at Douglas.

"Pffft!" Douglas blows out his mouth. "The day I turn up to school wearing makeup like a wussy dumb girl like you, I'll let him go."

Cindy grabs Douglas' ear, making his back jerk, causing him to lose his grip on Hector's shirt. "Get out of here you two," she says to Hector and Emma, now looking directly at Douglas. "You don't wanna see this."

* * *

Dylan is now next to Gilbert and Spencer as the water continues to splash against their table. He feels through his reddish hair. "What do we do _now?_ " asks Dylan.

Spencer lets out a breath in and back out again.

"We fight," Spencer replies.

Gilbert runs out of cover, getting hit immediately by oncoming water balloons. Spencer has a better look and notices it's actually three of them against two.

"Let's go!" Spencer goes, pulling Dylan's arm to drag his body out of cover.

Spencer and Dylan run full on as the other hall monitor notices them advancing. As the monitor sprays, Spencer and Dylan slide on the puddles of water in the hallway. They kick the monitor's shins, making him drop his gun. Dylan picks up the gun and chucks it to Spencer.

"Don't move," Spencer says, aiming the gun directly at the other monitor's head.

His partner is holding his shin in pain.

Dylan runs back to Gilbert whose laid out on the floor with his eyes shut. His shirt completely drenched.

"Gilbert, speak to me," Dylan says, looking over him.

Gilbert doesn't move.

"Gilbert?"

Gilbert opens his eyes wide and grabs Dylan by his arm, "stop being dramatic, it's only water."

Spencer lets Dylan and Gilbert take control of the monitor as he races into the school to find Emma and Hector. He goes on the highest level of the school. Right at the end of the hall are his two friends waiting patiently.

"You miss me?" Spencer asks, running up to them.

"Like heck," Emma smiles.

Hector looks awkwardly between Emma and Spencer who haven't stopped their gaze with one another, "I guess I'll, uh, leave you two to it."

Spencer blinks hard twice and looks back at Hector and says, "yeah dude, it's safe downstairs."

Hector gives Emma AV kid's keys before he makes his way down the flights of stairs. Spencer and Emma enter the attic of the school. It's the darkest part of the school with an undeniable constant ticking of the school clock inside of it. Emma looks out of the window and sees all the kids playing outside, all of them unaware of anything.

Spencer looks up at the big clock and says, "we're running out of time."

With a leap, Spencer holds on to the clock's hand as it continues to move, with fifty seconds left till the recess buzzer goes off and the mission fails. Emma connects the machine on to the clocks mechanism as she recites everything that Gretchen told her.

"Don't mean to rush you, but could you hurry up," Spencer says at Emma, losing his grip.

"I am, I am," she replies, pushing button after button.

Fifteen seconds.

Spencer tries to pull the hand downwards with all the strength in his seven year old body can muster.

"I think, yes, I got it," says Emma.

The long old English arm of the clock starts to slowly move back twenty minutes. Spencer moves anti-clockwise and looks at Emma for her affirmation. Similarly to how a student would wait for his answer to be corrected by a teacher.

"Don't worry Spence, its gonna reset every nineteen minutes back to 1:40, just like when recess starts."

"Cool," Spencer says, sighing, dropping down from the clock. "Now I can change my pants after almost pissing myself."

Emma laughs. She looks down to see Spencer's pants are actually wet.

"That's from a water gun fight, right?" she asks, staring at his soaked jeans.

"Yeah," he replies.

Emma laughs again.

"Yes Ems, I was just joking before."

* * *

Wacko's Circus & Emporium turn up to the school to the surprise of all the kids of the playground who are expecting recess to be over.

King TJ finally arrives on his throne on top of the jungle gym.

"Kids of the playground!" TJ announces. "When we wanted ice cream in the cafeteria, Principle Prickly said no! When we wanted trips to Gonzo World, they laughed at us! We had to stay in school, making our brains turn to mush! So, now guys and gals, its time for us to have some fun!"

The kids cheer one after the other as the circus music increases in crescendo. Contortionist's unraveling themselves out of suitcases. Stalls for free cotton candy, popcorn and ice cream open up. Acrobats come flipping out from the trucks on to the monkey bars.

Emma and Spencer meet the rest of their gang. The six of them celebrate together with hugs and high fives as the circus takes full force. The new gang meet each other with beaming smiles and celebrate with a group huddle.

Hector voices in. "There's just one thing," he starts, still in their huddle, turning to Cindy. "What did you do with Douglas?"

Cindy smirks with blonde hair slightly covering her vision and replies, "well, all I'm gonna say is, eyeliner looks good on him."

Gilbert and Spencer meet each others eyes and laugh, with Dylan scratching his head, confused on what Cindy meant. Finster, out of nowhere, takes hold of Spencer and rips him away from the huddle.

"You're just like TJ Detweiler," Finster pants, taking Spencer away from his friends. "Another ne'er-do-well rapscallion."

"Hey!" Gilbert goes running up to them, blocking them off. "He didn't do anything. If you take him, you have to take all—"

"No Gil, its okay," Spencer says, putting his hand out.

Spencer. The child martyr sacrificing himself for an almost perfectly executed prank.

Finster holds Spencer as she walks him further away. "When Principal Prickly finds out, he's gonna really throw the book at you," she says, as Spencer is lost for words.

Spencer thinks about replying with something to counter act against Finster. Maybe, _'I get in trouble but Principle Prickly gets to go target practice on my head with a few textbooks?'_ Meh. What's the point. He was so sure that everything was going to fall into place. Maybe punishment won't be so bad? Maybe they'll let him off with a warning? Boys will be boys?

Finster stops in her tracks. She spots a backpack full of assortments next to a pile of leaves. "Well looky here. Further evidence to add to your list of imprudence," she sneers, grabbing tighter to his arm.

"No, it's not mine," pleads Spencer.

Finster lets go of Spencer's arm and swaps it for the backpack, as a whirling sound sweeps from the leaves she treads on. Instantly Finster goes flying upside down with a rope tied tightly around her ankle. Spencer picks up the backpack and puts it over his shoulder. Finster screams at him, with her gown covering her vision slightly.

"I told you this isn't mine, its Gilbert's," says Spencer, walking away.

"Get back here this minute! Let me down from here! I'm getting nauseous! All the blood is going to rush to my head!" Finster yells.

Upside down girl hangs upside down like she always does. "You'll get used to it," she goes nonchalantly, as she drops down from the monkey bars in ear shot of Finster. Her blonde ponytails still sticking up in the air, she joins everyone else in the circus festivities.

The Hustler kid is selling some of his merchandise to the carnys. Cornchip girl is gnawing down her own body size in cotton candy. The cannon daredevil lets Swinger girl wear his American flag patterned helmet.

Spencer returns back to his friends. His gang makes their way to the top of the King's jungle gym. TJ hugs Spencer as the original gang of recess give him appreciation too. TJ calls the kids of the playground, as the music takes its cue to die down. Spencer falls on to the throne chair in awe.

"Picking Spencer wasn't difficult," TJ starts. "He's the reason the circus came at all today. So, do you Spencer, swear to be a noble king of all the grades, who will never ever ever _ever_ sway in the way of a dictator?"

"I do," Spencer says, with his hand up in a promise.

"Then, I hereby confer upon you the holy scepter of power," TJ goes, handing him the hockey stick. "The most high imperial crown." He places the yellow football helmet on Spencer's head. "And the royal plastic ring. So, with all of these most radical symbols of authority there's nothing else more to say but—hail hail King Spencer!"

The kids repeat it in unison and a large cheer erupts.

The PA system screeches on. " _TJ Detweiler, this is Principle Prickly. Come to my office immediately, that is all._ "

"Why always me?" TJ smirks, with his arms out.

Without hesitation, TJ finds his green cotton jacket he's neglected from behind the throne and throws it on. He pops on his red hat that was sticking out from it's pouch and reverses it. He goes down the slide from the jungle gym and disappears into the school as the music turns back on and the festival gets lively again.

* * *

TJ knocks on Principle Prickly's door, once invited in, he sits on the opposite chair leaning back with his feet up on the desk. Prickly is looking out the window, with his arms behind his back.

"How dare you bring this circus into our playground, the board of education are gonna have my head," Prickly says, turning around to face TJ. "I'm lucky I've known Miss Finster for years, so she won't press charges. Now I'm never going to get on the good side of Superintendent Skinner. I can kiss the principal position at Spirow T Agnew middle school goodbye. Two of it's students and Lance Brifowlski were found tied up above fire by the kindergartners, for crying out loud."

"Hey, you can't pin that one on me, those kindergartners can get awfully cranky when they miss their nap time," says TJ.

"You're still the same funny boy aren't you? Well, let me tell you something. You may have your high jinks and your escapades. But there are reasons for order, good behavior and sanitation. It's more than just keeping bad eggs like you in line," says Prickly, now pacing around the office. "But. We are not so different, you and I. What you kids call 'jinx', in the real world it's the people like my brother, who steal your ideas as their own. Opposite days would be, lets say, what us adults call being sarcastic. You don't even wanna know what real cooties are."

"Sir?" TJ replies, taking his feet off the desk.

"Nevertheless," says Prickly, breathing in a huge sigh. "It's been a pleasure."

Prickly raises his hand out for TJ to meet it, "good luck son, you're gonna need it," he says, as he shakes TJ's hand.

"Thank you, sir, the feelings, um, mutual," TJ replies, turning to leave.

"TJ. Please go and clear out your locker. I'm a firm believer that hoarding is a disease. It is contagious," Prickly says, shifting his tone to more stern again.

"But sir, I've already done—"

"Don't back chat with me boy, don't think I can't administer further punishment at the end of the school year."

TJ leaves Prickly's office and debates with himself to even bother go back to his locker. With a slow walk through the hallway he reminisces on his years in Third street. Trips to the cafeteria, building Fort Tender with his friends, pranking King Bob, to saving summer vacation from Philium Benedict.

TJ faces the small set of lockers reserved for the fifth and sixth graders. He opens his locker reluctantly with his combination '10, 23, 8, 8'. It's the Señor Fusion action figure, the figurine, yellow converter gloves and Captain Electricity comics from the golden age sitting in the locker in its official collectors box. A note rests on the top and says:

'To TJ, my favorite pupil,

Don't ever change, live in the moment and always be a kid in spirit for your whole lifetime.

My collection will be more valuable if you keep it. Remember Right is Right. Fusion and you taught me that.

P.S lets golf someday when I retire.

Your friend,

Petie.'

TJ leaves his locker, then runs back and slams it shut. He beams as he runs back to Prickly's office ready to properly thank him, to take him more seriously or maybe less seriously. He doesn't know. TJ knocks his office door with no answer. It's locked. TJ meets Miss Lemon at reception.

"Excuse me, Miss Lemon, where's Principle Prickly?" asks TJ.

"He went to golf," Miss Lemon replies, stacking her typewriter away in a cardboard box. "He was supposed leave half an hour ago, the clocks all over the school aren't working properly."

The circus is still in full swing. Some kids have bought their parents, and the teachers are enjoying themselves. Nobody wants to leave. TJ, ecstatic and disappointed at the same time, goes back outside and climbs to the top of Old Rusty. He has no idea what time it is. Vince stands at the top looking down at everyone.

"What a day, man," says Vince, not turning around as he saw TJ climb up. "Can you believe we're gonna go to middle school and then high school?"

Like a bittersweet reminder it just hits TJ. He will never go to Third Street school ever again.

"Vince?" TJ asks him, making Vince finally turn around. "You promise to stay friends forever?"

" _Best_ friends, man," says Vince, patting TJ on the back.

TJ smiles and looks down at the party with Vince. As the hand on the clock of Third Street school never reaches the end of recess.


	2. The gang reunites

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 1

TJ POV

* * *

 **Señor Fusion, just when you thought it's safe for a 'sell out' franchise to make a movie tie-in video game.** I throw my controller and it lands on a heap of underwears I was supposed to give Mom for the laundry. Forget it. Light peeks through the curtains, on to my TV and on to my Ultra-box 180. I lower the volume and I hear Becky laughing on the phone, with one of her friends or her new boyfriend. I don't care either way. I'm down to my last Winger Dinger. It used to feel liberating having my room in a mess, ten-der even. Now it just looks like a napalm bomb, like in 'Señor Fusion #17 The revenge of Professor Strange', crashed what used to be my bedroom. At least Mom and Dad have given up lecturing me about car-pay dee-m, or something like that along those lines.

My Abraham Lincoln shaped chip is still hiding on my shelf untouched. I meant to eat that chip from Teresa for being a hero years ago, but I've let myself become a villain. I've kept this dumb thing long enough to turn way beyond stale. This thing still doesn't look like it's aged at all. Another perk of junk food is their super power ability of having infinite mortality. Would it kill me if I ate it?

I drag my gamer chair to my desk. I turn my computer off standby and go back on the Fusion Freaks website. I talk smack about the new game until the fanboy forum becomes a full flame war. Next tab I pull up is Friendsite. The cursor blinks on and off for me to create an account. I leave it blank again and back track, typing Vince LaSalle. I scroll through his middle school pictures again. If it's not a photo of him playing every sport known to man, then it's him with a wide smile across his face alongside lots of different people. Hovering the mouses' cursor over the faces, every person has been tagged with a hyperlink leading to their own profiles and so on and so on.

Ashley Spinelli, well, Spinelli Ashley is her new username now. On her profile she has a crazy amount of status updates with every one of them reading like anecdotes.

'Its deuces 2 Italy, I'm coming home. They say Italians r hopeless romantics but I say they r romantically hopeless #homesick #stopusingamilllionhashtags.'

Updated by SpinelliAshley, Chitter, 12 minutes ago.

Spinelli has only one photo album, unlike Vince's, titled 'Italy is the bombest'. There's a picture of her photobombing her dad sleeping in an airplane. A picture of her posing with out stretched arms outside a monument. A picture of her in a red and yellow sundress.

Judy Montero. The only person in middle school who didn't think I was a lazy no-good show off. One of two people that I actually knew from Third street. I never got to actually compare her to a summers day like I said I would. I scan around to see if there are any tissues or socks laying around in my room. I scroll through Judy's photos until I hit on something I deem fappable. There's a photo of Judy looking like a dime piece in a bikini. It was posted two days ago. I grab a sock that has a hole in it. All my old friends have moved on. They've all forgotten me.

"TJ, you have a visitor, honey!" I hear Mom yell.

"Who is it?" I shout back.

"Why don't you come down stairs and see for yourself, dear?"

It's annoying how she can't just tell me who the heck it is. I quickly change my shirt anyway, fit on socks that aren't filled with holes, put my computer to sleep and leave a glitched Fusion to walk continuously into an invisible wall.

"Yeah?" I ask, as I walk halfway down the stairs.

"Hey, how are—I mean, how've you been, Teej?"

No way is Vince standing in my doorway.

Vince is friggin' standing in my doorway. Next to him is another guy whose probably our age cause he's wearing the same purple, white and yellow varsity jacket Vince has on, with a warthog badge on the right chest. His dark hair is scruffy but looks well kept at the same time and his skin complexion is slightly lighter than Vince's.

Mom smiles at Vince. "Your mother just called, I'm so proud of you that you got a scholarship," she interrupts.

"Thanks," Vince replies, moving his eyes towards Mom.

I say, "I'm playing the new Fusion game in my room," as I stand on the last stair.

"Cool, okay," Vince replies, as he flicks his Jamaal's off to the corner by the door, as the other guy does the same with his Zeus sneakers.

Why hasn't Vince introduced me to his new friend? Why didn't I say that I'm fine? I'm not, but that's what people say.

They follow me up to my bedroom. Vince sits on the side of my bed that's least messiest with his friend standing opposite at my door. His friend has some Arabic or Islamic cross stitching inside of his jacket, and a gold necklace poking out from underneath his WOO PIG SOOIE football shirt.

It's kinda impossible now to hide the evidence of me being a shut in. I tell Vince that the game is not two player, as I see him looking at my underwear heap.

"Yeah, um, have you kept in contact with the others?" Vince asks.

I just stare at him.

"Spinelli? Mikey? Gretch—?" he starts.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply. "Spinelli mostly."

Spinelli only.

"Cool, cool," Vince says with a nod.

A knock at my door interrupts an awkward silence from happening. The boy that I still don't know, opens my door, without asking me.

Becky walks in with a huge grin, quickly eyeing up the three of us. "My mom just told me. Well done, Vince. What private school was it again?" she asks.

"Oh, Thaddeus Fifth the Third, or something," Vince replies, shrugging.

"Ah, okay," she begins. "Well, well done anyway." She pokes her tongue out at me and leaves.

"Who is _that?_ " asks the boy with no name, watching Becky leave.

"Oh, um, TJ this is Troy, my friend from middle school," Vince explains.

I think Troy nods his head at me.

"That's my sister Becky," I say. "She's twenty one and she has a boyfriend."

"She's so hot," says Troy, looking genuinely surprised. "There's no girls like her in Beverly Hills middle school. They're all the plastic preppy type. The types who'll barf up the same cheeseburger you bought them during a date."

So much for trying to get her out of his head. I'm so grossed out, it's awkward enough being the third wheel, but now I have to worry about him finding my sister attractive.

"T!" Vince shouts, as he bursts out in a huge laugh, shaking his head at Troy. "Why you lie? Those are the only girls you go for."

"But V," Troy starts. "Sandraya and Tiffany in that assembly talk though. Don't do drugs, give hugs."

"You're still holding on to that? Rolling on the floor, saying you're legit OD'ing on too much sugar just to get mouth to mouth rustication, doesn't make you a mac," Vince adds.

Troy smiles again. "It's all about that offbeat strategy. You gotta give em what they want."

"And whatsaat?" Vince goes.

"They wanted me, they just didn't know it yet."

"I don't think they wanted the pedo tag attached to them."

They both stop laughing and realize where they are.

I'm lightyears behind Vince.

"The high school I'm going to is not that far from here, and its new," Vince says. "There's three basketball courts, two baseball fields, and like, state of the art gyms and stuff." He pauses as he stands up. "Maybe you might wanna go there too."

Vince begins to leave as he places, what looks like a book on my bed.

"It was really great seeing you again, Teej," Vince says, as he walks out my door.

"Cheech, was it?" Troy asks, typing down on his phone.

"TJ," I correct him, seeming to catch him off guard as he looks up, putting his phone down.

"Tell Becky, if she don't mind the age gap, she can cud up with me anytime," Troy says to me still chuckling, and with that he leaves too.

I hear Vince say goodbye to Mom, as he waits for Troy to reach the bottom of the stairs. The front door closes. I sit for a moment and get the feeling of a new wave of dust practically settle on me. No way. My Ultra-box is flashing that it has a red ring of death. That's odd, the screen is still on and working. Maybe the connection wires are crossed or it's just overheated.

"Why can't you be more like Vince, you little dweeb?" Becky asks, leaning against my door.

"Leave me alone Becky," I say.

"Your room smells like for sure of dead animals, you should like disinfect it or something."

"Go away."

I'm locked on to the booklet and I'm too lazy to slam the door.

"If I die from cancer, asbestos poisoning or get bitten by a creature from your room, I'm making you solely responsible," she teases.

"You should worry about your cheating boyfriend, who'll probably be bonking someone else again," I snap back.

Becky stops. I immediately regret it. Her mouth starts to wobble and her eyes get all shiny. I want to apologize but she leaves and slams her bedroom door shut. Bonking someone else? Is that the best I can come up with? Now I have that childish Bonkey song in my head.

Bonkey, Bonkey. Speckled little dragon. Bonkey, Bonkey. He's our special friend. Bonkey, Bonkey.

I turn my TV off to put Fusion out of his misery. I look at the high school prospectus Vince left me more closely, to see that the school he's going to has just been established.

My Ultra-box 180 turns back to green.

The house falls almost silent.

Becky.

I probably won't hear her laugh again tonight.

* * *

 **Everyone in this park are on their cells, and I'm talking to my watch.**

"Gondor Primulon, JT," Frank greets.

"This is quite urgent, Knarf, I need your help," I reply, looking back at him on the face of my watch.

I tell him everything from Vince's friend Troy to Thaddeus T Third The Fifth high school.

"Troy sounds charming, it's a pity Vince has to be hanging out with a geek like him," Frank says.

"Yeah, for sure, Knarf," I reply. "I have to complete an entrance exam if I'm to get in."

"I like ya, JT. But I had a look at the sort of questions a school of this magnitude would have, and their quite abstruse. One to certainly determine a boob from a brain." I hear him type wildly in the background, adjusting his glasses. "Psychometric tests, mental arithmetic, what's your current IQ?"

"Huh?"

"Which part confused you? You know I'm not actually referring to a breast when I reff—"

"Yes," I say, interrupting him. "I know boob means idiot."

I ask him if he knows Gretchen's where-a-bouts. She lives the furthest away from the original six of us, so where ever she is now is anyone's guess.

"Gretchen, doe-eyed queen of beauty, how can you be only friends with her and not fall in love?" he asks.

Frank pauses, genuinely waiting for me to reply.

"Er, I don't know Knarf," I say.

"I've given her a number of friend requests on Friendsite to no avail a while back, and on her ConnectOn, and on her SelfiePod, well, on her Chitter feed, she says," goes Frank, as he adjusts his glasses, squints and carries on, "she is volunteering to teach this summer in her current middle school just outside Arkansas at Marie Curie's school of Science for the extremely gifted."

"Good work Knarf, over and out," I say.

"Good luck JT, tell Gretchen I'm thinking of her," Frank adds.

I close the connection so my watch turns from a webcam to digital. It's 12:42. That's more nerdiness than I can handle. Frank texts me the address.

I sit upright, getting off the park bench, feeling my t-shirt sticking to my chest. Picking up my BMX, I make my way passed all the kids in the park that are eating popsicles, jumping through sprinklers and drenching each other with water guns. I cycle through the town square, with the bronze statue of Thomas Jefferson and it's reattached head still looking badly askew as it's titling to one side. Interweaving between people outside the mall, I go passed Floppy burger, the movie theater, Third street school, Deadman's dirt pile, the junkyard and Kelso's corner store.

I'm hitting the suburbs where the houses are getting larger with more private properties. The Triplicate Terrace sign hangs over Menlo's eerily identical looking neighborhood. I stop outside his house. How much longer have I gotta go to this control freaks birthday parties? Heading down, I can't help but notice Thaddeus Third the fifth's mansion. That large red house behind the golden gates still looks pretty creepy. I could do with one of Third's jetpacks right about now, my legs are starting to fall off.

I keep going.

I'm seeing Saspirilla Springs and the West side golf course. Up next is a trailer park crowded with movable homes. There's a flag on one of the RV's that looks like the Arkansas flag, but it isn't. It's red with blue stripes and white stars but instead of a diamond shape, its in an X. That's weird.

There are less and less phone line poles until it's just strips of land on each side of the road with just fields of horses eating hay. A sign emerges from the side saying 'Thank you for visiting Arkansas.'

I get to Gretchen's middle school and drop my bike on the ground. I collapse on the grass on my back to get my breath back. The place looks pretty old fashioned and junk. Really spiffy digs. I wipe my forehead and put my snapback hat back on. Especially as the blinding sun hits down on me, I let my hat do what it's made to do. I get inside the school and there are no kids, no teachers and the hallways are too quiet. It's a ghost school. It makes sense as it's the summer, though. I move to where I hear some noise, till I come to a room with a note of 'Summer School' written on the door in marker pen. I walk inside.

"The independent variable in this experiment is?" Gretchen asks, pointing at the board, that's bombarded with squiggles and numbers. She looks away from her half empty class and at me. "TJ?"

Gretchen leads me out of her class. "Oh my god TJ, like, how? Why? TJ," she rambles.

"Hi Gretch," I greet.

I explain to her that I need her help as I see her eyes light up. She tells me to wait a few minutes until her class is over. I find myself in the middle of the class.

"Then what? Then what?" asks this guy frantically, in front row of the class.

He seems incapable of stopping himself from asking questions like he has a tick, but seems like the only one that's participating. Makes me wonder how he gets held back in summer school in the first place.

"No no no, this isn't right at all," says this girl on the far right as she throws scrambled paper after scrambled paper into a bin that's already full to the top.

"What are you doing here?" some guy behind me asks.

"I know Gretchen," I reply, answering that person behind me. "I don't go here."

"I know that. I can tell you don't come to this school. It doesn't look like your mom dressed you. Welcome to summer school, bro, the first level of hell. Doomed to perpetual noobness."

I tell him why I'm actually here and that I'm waiting for the class to finish. I turn around to see who I'm talking to. It's Bradley. We never used to talk that much at Third street.

"Shoulda known. TJ," smiles Bradley at me. "Didn't you used to wear your hat like?" he motions his finger in a twirl.

"I've been called wigger a few times so I figure—" I start.

"Assholes," Bradley cuts in. "Be you, dude. Culture shouldn't be restricted by what you look like."

"I didn't even know what they meant at first," I say, reminiscing on middle school.

"My point exactly, I barely recognized you. Trust me it says a lot, I had the view of the back of your head for the whole year in fourth grade."

Bradley's wearing a grey hoody over his head with his dark brown hair nested underneath it. A junk food T-shirt, with a pizza, burger and donut pattern. Neon bright sneakers. Neatly dark hair.

He'd always use to wear his grey hoody at elementary school.

"I thought summer school was for the slackers?" I ask, facing back to the front of class.

"No such thing in a school like this. You get the rain-men here, not the regular dumb geniuses of the school year," Bradley clarifies in a lower tone. "It's a shame though, these guys are socially inept but with enough confidence they can uphold a cataclysm. They could probably have anything they want."

"What'chu talking about, man?" I laugh.

"You know, bargain with the cops for a life supply of comic books, anime and robotic girlfriends for being the only ones who know how to properly break down a chemical in a test tube without it exploding," Bradley spells out.

I look around to see Bradley take a pen out, which seems rare, because he hasn't got anything out on his table to study with. He flicks a light green spot on to the front of the class, with his laser pen. It hits Gretchen on the back of her head.

"Crappy green laser pens usually emit hazardous invisible infrared, too bad this is a good ballpoint pen. Still, point this at someone dumb enough, and they'll probably put their hands up," Bradley explains.

"Why are you here?" I ask, turning around to him again.

He aims the laser pen on my forehead.

"I got suspended, so I'm catching up on what I missed. Last time I dissected a frog I extracted batrachotoxin from it," he says.

"That doesn't sound too bad," I reply.

"The professor had to go to the hospital."

I just stare. He puts his pen away.

"He's okay," Bradley finishes.

With a smile, Bradley goes back to leaning on his chair, ignoring Gretchen.

That has to be one of the most interesting conversations ever. I was so attached with the gang, I failed to bond with all the other people at school.

"Okay, that's all for today, please brush up on your formulas. Good work everyone," Gretchen says, as the class begins to empty.

I exchange numbers with Bradley. He tells his number out loud from memory, as I write it on a little scrap of paper, putting it in my pocket before he leaves. It's all about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer and Bradley seems like a good place to start.

I show Gretchen the brochure Vince gave to me.

"Egad!" Gretchen says, flicking through the pages. Reading probably every word. "This school certainly looks like an exquisite institute to learn at. I'm in."

"You're the smartest person I know so—" I say, walking her out the classroom as she locks it up behind her.

"Aaaaw, that's so sweet of you to say, Teej," she says, sighing.

"Oh yeah, Frank told me to say—"

"Who?" asks Gretchen. "You mean Sedgewick? I ought-a put out a restraining order on him." Gretchen adjusts her small thin pink glasses. "So TJ, what is your means of transport?"

"Bike," I reply.

"Wait, please tell me you didn't leave it outside, just unattended?"

"It's no sweat, I thought I'd zip-in zip-out."

"That's not what I asked, TJ," says Gretchen, running outside of the school in full pelt.

Gretchen whose just rushed right passed me, heads to the front entrance of the school. The loud thuds of her hard heavy clog shoes echo across the empty hallway. It emphasizes that its only her and I left in here. The shabby scoundrel and the clever clogs, literally.

I follow in pursuit back outside, to see a lot of kids from the class I've just been at, are now swarming around something. My something.

"What the heck?"

I stand beside a frozen Gretchen as I see the rain-men, as Bradley called them, dismantling my bike into a crazy bike version of a machine gun. What used to be my handle bars have become a foundation for it to root on the ground. My tires are ripped off leaving the naked steel wheel. My gears have been taken off, rearranged and are strapped to the side of it.

"The centrifugal force can be transferred by the marbles," says one of them.

"Way too awesome-o," squeals the girl in delight.

"But that wouldn't be enough revolutions per minute," another mumbles.

The guy whose been answering all of Gretchen's questions earlier, rolls a marble in the wheels groove.

 _SMASH!_

The marble flings like a bullet and crashes through the school window, just missing Gretchen's head. The kids stop and finally notice us.

"Are you guys crazy?" I yell, in more awe than anger. "You could of taken Gretch's head—"

"No TJ!" shouts Gretchen back to me.

I look back at them and I see they're all super distraught, a few banging their heads in some temper tantrums.

"It's all right," says Gretchen, comfortably to them. "TJ didn't mean it, he's just a little angry you guys sorta disassembled his bike into deadly machinery contraption."

Gretchen tells them to put my bike back together and boy howdy do they do that. Almost instantaneously. Gretchen gives me an understanding look. Maybe to say, _I see you can get ticked off but you should be more tolerant of people_. Or maybe, _these are some of the smartest kids in America and you shouldn't give them an excuse to be mad at you_. Whatever she's trying to say, it's not everyday you get to have your bike turned into a transformer.

I cycle Gretchen to my house, with her on my handle bars, as we reminisce on the old days. I'm cycling a lot quicker back home than I was leaving it. I know Gretchen is pretty light but not that light. Maybe the kids at the Marie Curie's school did my bike some good.

We get to my room and I immediately feel guilty about the mess. We clean up and motor to the library to hit the books. We arrive back and set the dozen textbooks on my bed. Gretchen, cross legged on my bed, shouts out phrases and I answer back. We link up comic book heroes to Maths, cartoon callout characters to English and enough acronyms to make me sick.

I take a break from the onslaught of studying and surf the internet on my computer. I click around trying to find out more about my machine gun bike from earlier today. I see an image that looks just like that thing did today. I open it up.

"Hey Gretch, get a load of this. It was a spinning-wheel my bike was turned into, first invented by some old guys nearly a whole century ago, I mean look," I say, opening up a new tab, as Gretchen peers over my shoulder. "The centrifugal gun would necessitate the use of spherical projectiles. _That's_ what those smart kids were probably talking about."

"That's an awesome find but it's just an ancient piece of history from the twentieth century. It never really took off," Gretchen replies, sorting out her study cue cards in a neat stack. "Ready for your next set of questions?"

"But I spent all this study break researching."

"You got to take it seriously, TJ. You have to work as hard as you did when we were first ever partners," Gretchen insists.

I stare at her.

"Urigation of Ancient Mesopotamia?" she asks.

I pull out my family's old hockey foosball board from under my bed, that I had used for our project.

"You kept it," she gasps.

"I asked Miss Grotke to take it home, it was my only A," I explain.

Gretchen looks so much different. She grew into her teeth, her fronts have less of an overbite. It's assisted by her bright blue braces and her voice sounds more clearer than before. Not nasally at all. For a moment I feel how Frank does.

It's late and she has been helping me for hours. She gathers up her books and stands by my door.

"The symbol for Iron?" she asks.

"My mom irons, she's f-e-male, so, F, E," I reply.

"You'll be fine," she says, and with that she leaves.

* * *

 **I latch my bike up with my Beanie McChimp key padlock** at the end of a row of white lines near the teachers parking lot. The high school is huge. Almost every kid seems vaguely familiar. I look up at this gigantic bronze statue outside. It has a thick mustache plopped under its nose so that's definitely supposed to be Thaddeus.

"Hey, TJ Detweiler."

I look to the right and see who I think is Digger Sam minus his shovels and clothing gear.

"You must be doing the test too," says Digger Dave to my left approaching with a popped up collar. I think.

It's amazing how much they look a like without being related. I remember how Dave's voice got deeper in the beginning of fifth grade, so that must be him. I guess without one having a mouth guard and the other with a red handkerchief, I can't immediately tell who's who.

"Hi guys, how ha—?" I say.

"Look TJ, we'd love to catch up n' stuff," Dave interrupts, looking on his cell phone, then back at me. "But _some_ of us have to _actually_ get to the examination hall on time."

"We still have about ten minutes," Sam, I think, says.

Dave, I think, gives him one hard look and with Sam giving me a quick hug, they head up to the navigated arrows. I'm right, that is Dave. Dave is always bossing Sam, and pretty much everyone he knows, around. I follow them down, what hopefully, will be the halls I'll be using for the next four years. I'm just walking inside and I already feel lost. The lockers packed to each other look like purple stainless steel. There are blank noticeboards just waiting to be pinned with new information. I go in the basketball court turned exam hall. The nervous kids murmuring equations out loud and others just chatting with each other. I see Swinger girl with glasses replacing her goggles and Guru kid looking taller than when I last saw him.

I take a seat and get handed my test paper. 'No talking, no crying and absolutely no cheating'. Yeah. This is what the examiner at the front of the hall pins up on the whiteboard. There's a calendar at the front saying that I'm part of the first set that's going to be tested today. I write my name. Theodore. Jasper. Detweiler. We begin. Okay, no turning back now.

Question 1: Name all the uses of a standard brick you can think of?

Eh, what? Unless this is a trick question, I can think of a bazillion. Build a house. Block your door open. Weigh down paper. Stepping Stone. Play Catch. Strap it on to your foot to reach the car accelerator if you're short. Throw it through a window. Wrap it up as a present and say, heck, it's the thought that counts, right? I write more answers and leave space for later.

Question 2: I have it, I don't share it, but if I share it, I don't have it? What do I have?

Whoa, its like, it could be anything but nothing at the same time. I mean, if you had money you wouldn't wanna share it, but you can't enjoy it without your friends having some, at least that's how I feel. Uhh, I just had a complete mind-fart. I'll just put _secret_ as the answer, leaving a big blank space underneath it.

You give a secret away, then you don't have the secret in the first place anymore. At least, I think so anyway.

In this test, there are only six questions with a large blank space underneath each one. Question four is two scribbles. Just two measly scribbles in the middle of the page of a half hexagon shape and a triangle thingy. On the top of the page it says to finish the incomplete figure. I've left this for last and I'm drawing Beanie McChimp with a fat hexagon belly fighting an onslaught of villains I made up. McChimp using his deadly shuriken frisby-like bananas, one of them used up by the triangle like shape.

The hour test is over. I can just hear sighs of relief and whispers of "Easy" when the alarm beep goes off. The tests get gathered up, and Menlo picks up my test along with the others. Shouldn't he be doing the test as well? Or did he just finish and volunteered to help? He looks at my paper for a second, looks at me and gives me an approval nod.

The examiner acknowledges the papers left down on his temporary desk. "Thank you, Menlo," says the examiner now looking at us. "Now it's time for you expectant students to take a stretch and have a tour of the school."

I take off with Dave, Sam, Jimmy, as I remember when Guru kid took his turban shirt off his head, revealing his real name, and of course Swinger girl.

"It's Aubrey actually, TJ," she says. "I ain't swinging anymore, cause I've grown out of it, plus it accounts for how gross the meaning of the word swinging has become now."

"We still dig, don't we Sam?" Dave says to me, nudging Sam next to him.

"Speak for yourself," Sam replies.

Jimmy gently holds mine and Sam's shoulders. "As sure as the moon rises and the sun sets, _secret_ was the answer for question two," he says.

"Well, I know I definitely put that," I reply, as everyone else nods in approval, as well as people over hearing us agreeing too.

I follow the crowd of us kids as we move across the campus, everyone except for Dave, who stays super glued to where he's standing.

"What?" Dave goes. "I—I—I thought the answer was _treasure_. Whatever, you guys were clearly wrong." He starts to catch up to us.

This high school is a maze first and foremost. The ground floor has classrooms for tutor groups with numbers and letters like a rundown apartment, but inside they're anything but. There's a room with the number 404. The guide tells us that all the other doors of the school have numbers and a letter up to two hundred, except for this one.

The room is in error, it seems.

On the first floor are the classes. Science labs with some test tubes lighting up across the rooms, rough carpet instead of the shiny hallways down stairs and each classroom looks almost completely different. Each room has like its own life to it. Some are shaded in bright colors, like Homec is bright pink, with baby cradles and desks pushed to the side with an odd space through the middle of the room making the teachers desk look like an altar. The biology classroom is covered in animal textures, like the door itself looks like wild bark with a paw shaped door knob. Geography has the world map as wallpaper. Maths has built in calculators and ruler measurements across each desk. Foreign languages has weird wiggly desks, and that was just the French section.

We take the stairs up to the second floor and there's a clear difference. The more creative subjects are up here. The gym, basketball court and sauna are downstairs but up here is, I.T and animation, drama, wood shop, a dance studio and art classes.

This.

Is.

Amazing.

I gotta get into this school, _I just gotta_ , cause, maybe high school won't whomp like middle school.

* * *

 **I'm up.**

A white letter is sticking out from under my bedroom door. Typical of my mom trying not to wake me up unless she has to. I'm trying to open it gently but I'm already tearing it apart. There's a logo of a purple warthog in the corner of the page with "Arkansas Hogs" written beneath it. I skim past every two or so lines.

'...it brings me great pleasure to invite you to our new learning family. Thank you for choosing Thaddeus T. Third V high school for your place of education to unlock your future..'

Thaddeus', the Principle's, huge, wavy, curly signature at the bottom of the letter takes up about a fifth of the page. I go downstairs to the kitchen, and tell my old folks the good news.

"Well done TJ, see what you can do when you put you mind to it?" Mom goes.

Becky comes through to the kitchen.

"Becky, your brother is going to that new school," Mom says.

Becky flashes a smile at Mom, and doesn't look at me. I gotta see Spinelli, I haven't seen her since last summer. I wanna know at least where she will go to school this year. I slide on my sneaks and make my way out the front door. I just hear Mom ask where I'm off to as I close the door behind me.

I'm going three doors down to Spinelli's house. Spinelli's doorbell's dead. I knock twice. Three times. Spinelli's mom answers the door, blowing her nails.

"Hi Mrs Spinelli, is, um, Spinelli home?" I ask.

"Oh, TJ, you just missed her, she's out with her brother Joey," she replies. "I'm afraid I don't know when she'll be back."

I tell her I should go but Mrs Spinelli insists.

"TJ, you know you're always welcome, come in," she says, frog stepping inside as her wet toe nails are making her walk funny. "So, when are you gonna whisk my little pookie into marriage?"

I don't know what to say.

"I'll just go to the bathroom quickly, Mrs S," I burst out.

I head upstairs, and I use the bathroom like I said, cause I just woke up a few minutes ago.

I pass by Spinelli's room and I'm tempted to go inside. I've only been in there on two occasions, and that was last summer and just after kindergarten.

I step inside.

There's a wrestling poster of Grapple-Mania XV above her tv, hangers of a couple of her orange woolly hats, a bookcase of DVDs and small boxing metal craft sculptures. On the right has her Mutant Godzilla Apocalypse poster. Her desk has a certain type of mess I'm accustomed to. It has her laptop covered in skateboard stickers, scattered memory sticks and empty bottles of sodas. Her bin is almost filled to the brim with, what looks like, new clothes. The tags are still on them. What the heck? A tooth is hidden behind some hair scrunchies on her dresser. It's probably her first tooth or she knocked someone else's tooth out. Neither wouldn't surprise me.

I leave her room. I close the front door a bit louder than usual to let Mrs Spinelli know that I've left.

I head to Kelso's. I'm in the store and overhear some kids who must be going to Third Street school soon. They buy some alien monstickers and make the door sound a jingle as they leave.

"Hello there, TJ," Kelso greets.

I buy some new Molar-busters to see what all the hype is about.

"Hey, Mr Kelso," I say, handing him my change for the sweets. "What do you do if you lose contact with friends, who used to be your best friends?"

"Well, TJ," Kelso starts, ringing the cash register. "People grow up and grow apart, that's just part of the more crueler stages of life. You're a great kid, you'll find new friends. If you are trying everything in your power to see them, then it isn't your fault." Kelso's eyes light up at me. "Hey, I have these new sweets, just come from Japan." He puts out his hand filled with yellow and blue colored wrapped candy. "Take some on the house."

"Thanks."

I take some and leave the shop with the Japanese sweets scuffed into my sweatshirt pocket. In the shop I hear his wife, I think, shout his name "Aaron!" I look back inside from the window to see her hit him with a broom.

* * *

 **"Come on Dinckle-weiler! Throw the ball already!"** Lawson moans.

I do my little shimmy and pitch the kickball at him. He makes contact with a swing of his right foot as Vince and Mikey both go after it.

"Oh no, it looks like there's going to be a collision," Gretchen shrieks, into her lollipop like a microphone.

"I can't watch," Gus says, next to Gretchen at their commentary dugout of a bench.

Mikey stops as Vince uses him to launch up, vault over and catch the ball in mid air.

"Hey!" Lawson moans, dropping his bat. "That's not in the rules, no way that counts," as he bolts for the bases anyway.

What the hang? Vince's, Mikey's, damn near all the eyes of the fourth graders around me are glowing bright eyes.

Lawson hasn't noticed this and he's running across all the bases. The outfielders moving in closer in a trance state. Lawson is heading to the final base. "Haha! Fifth graders win again! Home base here I co—!" A light bolt comes hurtling from the sky and strikes Lawson, obliterating him instantly.

De-materialized. His hi-top sneakers are left there like tree stumps, smoke flowing out of them.

I didn't know not following the kid code would lead to this.

I look up to see what blew up Lawson. It's the most scariest, diabolical site no boy should ever see. It's Miss Finster, only she's 100 feet tall. Shooting green laser beams from her eyes.

"Miscreant!" she roars, the clouds becoming speech bubbles of her word, as she displays her Godzilla-like sharp teeth. The letters flash in the sky above her in an instant as she pauses in a pose. Like a freeze frame in a monster flick.

I'm living out of a comic strip.

The ocean of blue in the sky tints into a hellish red. The Finster shoots a green laser beam at me and I evade, rolling away from it. That was close. The fourth graders run full pelt at me, their eyes glowing white, their mouths frothing and biting. I don't know what the hecks happening, but I'm not about to get chomped on or get zapped out of existence.

Ha, that sounds like a really messed up 'Would you rather?'

Vince tries to take a bite out of my face and as I push him off me, I can see he has extra rows of teeth. I run away and climb on to the King's Jungle Gym.

You hear about these things happening in Butch's crazy stories and urban legends, but you never think it's ever gonna happen to you.

I climb till I'm on the top and see a little kid sitting on the throne. It's me. It's five year old me. Red cap on top of his scruffy hair, white T-shirt and blue jeans. Freckles on his face. I don't even think freaky, best describes this. He gets up, I mean I get up, little me gets up, and looks up at me expectantly.

"Grow out," little TJ says, with a pop sickle dripping from his hand.

I can hear the fourth graders getting closer.

"What's happening? What am I supposed to do?" I plead.

Little TJ takes the popsickle he's sucking out of his mouth.

"Slide," he replies. He walks passed me and goes down the slide of the jungle gym.

All the mutant fourth graders ignore him and shine on me. Mikey pushes his way to the front with an evil smile, tilting his head at me. He's facial features drooping as if his glowing eyes are melting his wax like skin away.

"Hey guys, we can talk about this, hows about a game of battle tag?" I suggest, as Mikey steps slower in front me. "You can take first up."

They go at me.

This can't be real. I'm dreaming. I must be able to do what I want. Then again, this is a nightmare, I'm helpless. I wanna be. I am. Señor Fusion. I feel the cape costume form on me.

 _SMACK!_

I whack Mikey across the face with a punch, his large frame moves aside those behind him. I proceed to fight my friends off the jungle gym. Kicking Vince in the face. Round housing Gus across his neck. Cracking the skull of Ashley A and drop kicking Gretchen off this steely multi colored tower. There's way too many of them. I run off the top till I'm flying in the air away from them. Okay, first this was scary, then this was pure madness, besides my best friends becoming mutated creatures, this is getting freaking good.

I'm gonna milk this. Whatever this is. I fly up at Finster, interweaving between her flailing arms. She swipes at me, the attack hits me and I go plummeting to the ground. I land on the playground.

"Hffu! Grrrfuufff!" I hear a huffing growl. A huge purple warthog is charging at me. I quickly take my superhero cape off and use it like a matador. The warthog stops in it's tracks. My white cape I'm waving must look like I'm surrendering or something. Changing it's mind, it huffs and squeals straight towards me. The word _KAP-POW!_ flashes as I smack its torso like a piñata as sweets come flying out of its gut.

Gretchen, Mikey, Gus, Vince, the Ashley's and all the other kids of the playground come running back towards me. Their glowing eyes working like torches. I find my flight again and showdown against the Finster whose perched on top of the jungle gym. I see her holding Spinelli, who is trying to kick and punch away from her grasp. Almost tantrum-like. I clap my hands together to use the devastado bomb with my converter gloves. _BOOM!_ Spinelli wrestles her way out in time as Finster goes falling backwards on to the school with a crash. The horde of kids from the playground climb up Old Rusty after me. Expressionless. Mutated. Zombies. I go towards Spinelli, who doesn't seem to have bright weird eyes, or mutated features, like all the other fourth graders.

"You did it," Spinelli says. "You didn't have to my rip my heart out though, rip my heart, oh oh oh yeah, rip my damn heart out. That's Dog's Pajamas with their new single 'Rip my damned heart out'—"

I open my eyes.

I brush sweet wrappers off my bed. My comic book is still open on my chest. I must of dozed off.

"You're listening to 98.9 BlockHead FM. Back to reality, back to school for those youngsters out there. Summer is now officially over, so stop the wringing, put those skateboards 'n ice creams down and pick those pen 'n pencils up—"

A crying baby sound effect plays in the background.

"After the break we're gonna talk to plastic surgeon tycoon Richard Armbruster, on his new and affordable 'boob, butt, botox deal for babes on a budget'—"

A chainsaw and sellotape ripping sound effect goes off.

"Later on we're gonna talk to a man who's gonna marry his seventh goldfish. _We have a perfect relationship, it just gets to me having to replace my wives and flush 'em down the toilet. The sex is great, I put my hand in her fishbowl and she does this thing where she sucks my finger and I_ —"

Sheez! I'm awake.

I get ready. The usual multi task in record time in the bathroom and then I'm eating bacon, eggs and pancakes in the kitchen. Mom's in front of the stove and Dad's somewhere behind his newspaper.

"Ready for your first day, bud?" Dad asks me, still reading his paper.

"Mmmhmm," I reply, with my mouth full of breakfast.

The Grand Street Gazette newspaper has some story on the front. '21 Jump Third Street: The undercover student story.' Okay, it's mentioning Third Street School. I can make out a mug shot. James Stone. Underneath it's saying this guy escaped the mental institution right here in Arkansas. He had been locked up in Texas' County jail before pleading insanity, transferring him to the crazy looney bin called Unhinged Avenue Asylum.

'It has forced Superintendent Skinner to recite his position, due to his involvement of the escaped prisoner's blatant intrusion of the children's privacy...'

Yadaa-yadaa-yadaa. The story continues from page five to seven. If I didn't know any better, this guy is the phlegmy spitting image of that Benedict Arnold who almost ruined recess for me and my friends. An old fogie. Bald head. Black beady eyes but with a glint, like dark swirly marbles.

You don't forget somebody like that.

"I don't care if he apologizes Melissa, everyone knows what he did, T-jerk knew and he never leaves the house. Yeah. At least I never turned out as one of his exes that ends up on the internet," Becky goes, chatting on her cellphone.

"Becky, be a dear and drive your brother to school today?" Mom asks.

Becky takes one look at me. "Sorry mom, I'm going to work," she insists.

"What? You've been using any excuse to go anywhere in your new car and now you don't want to take your little brother out on his first day?" Mom asks.

Becky stands there with a tiny voice coming from her phone asking if she's still there.

"The booger can walk there himself, I've seen it and its not that far away," Becky says.

Dad ruffles his paper. "Becky, as long as I am paying for your gas money, do as your mom says," Dad orders, still not moving his eyes from what he's reading.

Becky makes her way out the screening door, leaving it wide open behind her.

"TJ, enjoy your first day," Mom says, with a hug. "Either comb your hair or put a hat on."

Comb my hair? Bag that. I go back to my room and slap on my old trusty red cap with my envelope with a check to cover my first term in hand. I climb into Becky's pink Volkswagen Beetle outside.

We set off. We don't talk a lot but this silence is too much.

"I'm sorry," I go.

Becky changes the gear into third.

"I didn't mean what I said, not really, I mean, I was really depressed and I'm sorry."

Becky ignores me and puts the radio on, with that same annoying host from this morning. Great. I start to nod my head to the song that's playing. Becky and I catch eyes and she's doing the same, she tries to hide her smile at me reflecting off her side mirror. We lip sync slowly, terribly, and then eventually, in tune with the music and we sing together, even though the techno is so auto-tuned, the song could be about drowning puppies and it would still rock the house.

We're getting nearer and I see kids walking across the car as the high school is just outside. Becky listens to another song and then kills the volume.

"Don't sweat it, little bro, just don't mess up this opportunity, 'kay?" Becky says smiling at me.

I smile back. I get up and out the car, closing the door, then Becky drives off.

Kids from all backgrounds are on the school lawn, running, skateboarding, cycling and rollerblading to the high school entrance. Groups of girls giggle with each other. A bunch of boys batter each other with headlocks. Teenagers in dark colors, others in brighter hipper ones. Parents embarrassing their kids with tearful hugs, and the more maturer kids returning the favor. Kids adjusting their string bags, purses, rucksacks and suitcases.

Suitcases? This ain't supposed to be a boarding school, is it?

So many people moving at once. High school at the center of the teenage universe.

I walk inside to where it is a lot livelier than when I came here to do the entrance exam. I can tell that a lot of the school is yet to be explored yet. I follow the students who are making their way to the auditorium on the second floor. The entrance is at the back as rows of seats slope all the way down to the bottom to where a stage and curtains are. No doubt the assemblies and school plays will happen here. We're all waiting for Thaddeus to turn up as all that's there on the stage is a mic stand. I take the steps down to halfway. Gretchen's along the side stairs, talking to a group of some older looking people. They must be our teachers. Vince is already seated, with a crowd circled around him and what looks like Ashley Boulet holding his hand. I can't really tell. I take a sharp turn around.

I'm grabbed off the ground. My face is pressed up to someone's chest, making my hat fall off. All I see is white. I'm struggling to get free. But. I think I'm being attacked by a huge hug.

"I cant breath," I try to say in a muffle.

I'm released and I look up to see Mikey, and next to him is Gus.

"TJ, I thought I'd never see you again," Mikey pants.

"TJ, you being here is going to be make high school that extra bit special," says Gus. "I saw Gretchen, you don't think all of us are here do you?"

"We could be," I reply, plopping my hat back on.

I could hardly hear him with all the noise. Mikey, Gus and I take the steps further down to the front row where some of the students are not bothering to take a seat yet, seeing as there is so much space in front of the stage. There are lots of people being reunited in this part of the room. I overhear Sam bragging that there's no Dave. Wylie from elementary gives us a wave. CJ Rottweiler, my doppelgänger as Gretchen put it back in fourth grade, says "Hey TJ" to me. She puts her curly ginger hair behind her ear, smiling, giving me a soft knuckle touch.

My shoulder gets tapped. I turn around. Spinelli with much longer, straighter hair looks at me with her eyebrow sticking up. She tilts her head at me confused. She grabs my hat and turns it around, making some of my hair stick out the front gap.

"Teej," she says, smiling.

**[PLAY SONG "SebastiAn - Embody" AT THIS POINT]**


	3. Dude, where's my class?

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 2

Spinelli POV

* * *

 **Teej got fat.** Seriously, what happened to him?

"Mikey, Gus, TJ, it's so good to see you guys," I say.

I greet Griswald with a tap and the big lummox gives me less of the bear hug than the one he gave TJ. He's learning quick.

Gus peers back at me. "It's good to see you too, Spin-el," he says, rubbing his arm.

Come on. I didn't punch him on the arm that hard.

"Ah, joyous of days," the Big-Guy sighs. "Behold my old friends and pastures new."

I look back at them. "You lot were able to get your parents to cough up the dough to get here, as well?" I ask the guys, feeling weird that I've got a G note on me but I won't be able to actually have it.

Gus adjusts his rucksack. "Ain't Thaddeus T Third going to give us all the money back anyway?" asks Gus.

TJ scratches his hair under his cap. "Yeah, it's really backwards," says TJ, looking zoned out.

Mikey pulls out some folded paper of a check. "It's still a private school after all," he says.

"True, so, how was middle school for you guys?" I ask, as I look at how much they've changed.

"Well, Mikey and I went to Spiro T Agnew, I mean, we expected to see you lot there as well," Gus says, moving his attention away from his arm to his glasses that are less bulkier than they were in elementary school. "I mean, it was okay. Thanks again for adding me on Friendsite, Spin."

"No problem," I reply.

Gretch is in deep convo with some teachers and Vince is being kissed up by some jerk-off jocks.

"Well, I'll bug Gretchen in a minute and leave Mister Queen bee with his merry men. But _you_ Teej, are _you_ okay?" I ask, getting a better look at TJ.

Teej hasn't said much, with this out of sorts look like he's seen a ghost. "Spinelli, I'm _good_. I never imagined we'll all be in the same school together," TJ says, finally looking like his old self.

"Yeah, yeah, it's amazing, but where's your online visibility, man? I know you came round mine that one time last year but you gotta get with the times," I say.

I love the guy, but I frigging hate how he can feel sorry for himself sometimes.

"I took middle school abroad in Italy, Teej knows this, it was amazing. The foods brill but some of those Italian boys can be such wusses," I begin.

" _Rome,_ " Mikey sighs yet again. "I've always wanted to go there," he says, looking at me and then scanning around the area.

"Yep. My mom thought it was a good idea I'd learn my mother tongue and junk. So, how was middle school for you, Teej?" I ask him, standing along side Gus and Mikey so that TJ is now the center of attention in front of us.

I look around the auditorium and catch eyes with the Ashleys, three of them at least, who then look quickly away.

"I ended up going to Roosevelt County middle school, not knowing anyone at first. You know, the typical spiel of getting to know new people and pranking the odd oblivious teacher. All I'll say is that, Gordy will forever never, never ever, _ever ever_ like me," TJ says with his usual spiffy way.

Mikey shakes his head. "Well, that is _his_ loss. I'm so fortunate to have friends like—" he starts.

" _All students are to report to the rooms assigned from their admissions letter, Thank you,_ " goes the PA system, cutting Mikey off. I swear it was that dweeb Menlo's voice.

It looks like Thad's a no-show.

We walk together out the auditorium. Gretchen must've been one of the first to leave because she's disappeared. We go on the lowest floor. The hallways are like intersections and free ways with polished lamented roads. Pretty much, all holds bards. The soon to be cheerleaders going one direction and kids in ties going the other way. The walls are plastered with posters saying 'Welcome to Thaddeus T Third V high school', 'Start the warthog revolution' and 'Move a castle and two knight moves from here to get to chess club' written in this crummy handwriting. I arrive at room 101A.

"This is me," I say.

"Me too," says TJ looking through the door's window.

"Me three," Mikey says.

"Huh? Oh man, why do I always have to miss out? I'm room 109B," moans Gus, walking ahead of us before any of us can reply back.

I enter the room with the guys and we sit at the far left. Different types of teenagers start entering our class. The class fills like a melting pot of kids from different, obvious, but still undecided groups. Now, I ain't the type of gal to stereotype anyone, but today I'll make an exception. You have the seemingly smart kids, a goth with green highlighted hair, a sporty jock, a few prissy blondes, and kids wearing T-shirts with silly statements like 'YOGO: you only graduate once' and 'FBI: federal booby inspector.' Careful, we have some mad men over here.

"Hello Class," I hear from an opening and shutting from the door. "I will be your tutor for this year, you can call me Mr Dudikoff," he says, writing his name on the chalk board. "You are young adults, so I'll treat you like such. You can call me Frank or Sir or—"

"Or Mr Dude," interrupts TJ.

"Mr Detweiler. Wow, its so good to see you. How are ya, pal?" Mr Dudikoff asks, his hands on his hips.

"I'm good now, dude," replies TJ.

"Oh my god," Ashley A shrieks, holding her mouth in shock. "It's like, _totally_ fabulous that you'll be our teacher again."

Two girls behind me are whispering something stupid like 'hunk' and 'dreamy.'

"Okay class, I'm going to give you your schedules after I do the registration quickly. I've been assigned to ask everyone to introduce themselves, but I can understand how daunting it can be to do that on the first day so—" begins Mr Dudikoff.

Mikey moves in his seat. "No that sounds like a wonderful idea," he says, standing up making his chair screech. "Hi, I'm Mikey. I'm a peace advocate in training, a poet enthusiast and—Winger Dingers, man, they must've been crafted by the big guy up there himself."

"Thanks for opening up to us, Mikey," says Mr Dudikoff, with a pleased yet kinda confused grin. "Ashley Armbruster?" he goes, looking inside his registration folder.

"Hi, I'm Ashley," she replies, rising from her seat. "Even though I'm perfect in every way, destined to be popular and future valedictorian, don't like, get intimidated by me. I want to have special relationships with all of you."

Princess barbie, you're supposed to be introducing yourself, not trying to win Miss America.

"Thank you Ashley, that was um, informative. Mikey Blumberg would have been next so, TJ Detweiler?" Mr Dudikoff asks.

"Howdy," says TJ, getting out of his chair. He tries to reach the brim of his hat at the front, he just grabs air, he must be realizing I flipped his cap backwards. "You can call me TJ. I love comic books and I'm always one to stand up, well, not because I'm technically not sitting down right now." Some people start to laugh. "I guess one day I wanna do something that really makes a difference. Look at super hero films for example, and all the same quiches they have, like every villain has to destroy himself or magically turn into a good guy out of nowhere. That's just not believable."

You gotta love TJ's encore as people start to giggle at the obvious reference to the Señor Fusion movie reboot that really sucked. It's adorable how he just blatantly says the word cliché wrong.

Mr Dude thanks TJ and he continues along with the attendance.

"Thomas Mor—" Mr Dudikoff starts to say.

This jock guy clears out his throat. "Troy, everyone calls me Troy," this guy says with a wink, making girls behind me giggle again.

"All right," Mr Dudikoff continues. "Troy Morteza? Tell us about yourself."

"I don't get it. Like what?" asks Troy, still sitting down, not bothering to get up.

"What are your likes and dislikes? What are you talented at?" Mr Dudikoff asks again.

"Uh, lets see. I think fighting is fun, my childhood died when I found out wrestling is fixed and—I know, not think, that girls are inferior to boys," says Troy.

TJ and Mikey take a worried look at me as the class gets divided in disagreement.

"Settle class, settle. Molly Sanchez?" asks Mr Dudikoff.

"Hi, I'm Molly. I'm Fourteen. I'm from Mérida. I guess I'm kind of a girly girl," she replies.

Troy lets out a little laugh. "You're supposed to talk about _you_ , not your _ASL,_ " smirks Troy.

"Hey!" Mr Dudikoff shouts. "Cool it Morteza," he goes, making Troy shut up finally.

" _Oh,_ " Molly gasps. " _Yeah_ , I'm into the modern art scene, but not that weirdo exhibition stuff of like a random rubbish can that's supposed to mean the world is a heap of despair or something," Molly says to Troy, and now at Mr Dudikoff. "I thought dying your hair would make you look like a disney princess, long story short, it just kills all your towels. _Oh_ , and I'm scared of unitards."

"What?" Mr Dudikoff goes, looking confused. "Aren't girls your age really into jeggins and such?"

"Restrictapontaphobia," says Troy, making everyone go quiet with this really random use of intellect.

And to think I've been missed when Gretchen did this.

"No way sir, I don't think that's her MO," Troy continues. "You're into Fuzzy, right?" he asks Molly.

"Uh-huh," replies Molly, turning round to him.

My heads locked on them two. "Are you two talking in a secret code or something?" I ask them out loud.

Troy takes a look at me like he's just noticed me for the first time or something. He pauses then looks back at Mr Dudikoff. "Unitards a homonym, Dude," says Troy.

Mr Dudikoff raises his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead. "Um, I don't think so," he scoffs.

"Unitard," says Troy, clearing his throat. "What prancy ballerinas wear. When someone does something so singularly retarded it is unlikely to be repeated. When you're a fair weather fan and only wear the uniform of the team when they're winning. When you graduate but you're still retarded," Troy adds, looking directly at the guy with the Y.O.G.O shirt.

I try not to laugh with him because of what he said about ballet.

"With Molly, unitard means the bros or the retards who take My Fuzzy Unicorn a bit to seriously," adds Troy.

"Yeah," Molly goes, agreeing with him and now facing our tutor. "Grown up guys shouldn't watch My Fuzzy Unicorn. Isn't that the most chilling thing ever, sir? I mean, that cartoon is for like, little girls. I don't watch it. Well, _I do_ , but, _yeah_."

Well, these two are full of surprises. I can see it's making Mr Dude's head hurt.

The S's have started, sooner or later Mr Dudikoff's gonna—

"Spinelli?" Mr Dude sighs.

"It's all right, sir," I say. Wow. Mr Dudikoff actually remembered I don't like my first name. "I'm Ashley Spinelli, or whatever, but my friends call me Spinelli. I love pro wrestling and I think it is real, I like hanging out with my friends and any guy who wants to make a wise crack about girls being inferior will have to deal with me."

My knuckles I crack, seem to make a louder sound than I expected.

Troy tee-hees. "That's cute Spinelli, I'll send you a memo when I care. Which'll be February the third, of 2000 and never," goes Troy, moving his index finger like an imaginary pen.

"I'll knock your block off right here," I threaten.

Mr Dudikoff cuts in saying, "Okay, leave it, you two."

"You might break a nail," Troy replies back at me.

"You don't know me at all, do you?" I go.

Order gets restored, or pretty much Troy and I run out of insults to swing at each other. Our schedules are passed out. English. History. Recess and then study hall. Maths. Art. Lunch and then Science and then Drama. Hectic, but hey, there's bound to be other less mind deteriorating activities to do in high school. Surely? I ask Mr Dudikoff where my first class, or heck, any of my classes are.

"I'm as new as you are Spinelli," he says. "Ask around, talk to people, soon enough you'll know the place like the back of your hand."

* * *

The back of my hand is looking awfully unfamiliar right now. It's lunch. It took me twenty minutes to find English. The high school is amazing, though. Pools, saunas, Thaddeus really dolled up this joint. Break went quicker than a few nano seconds, with study hall just for us to wait in a long-ass queue to get our books for the year. TJ, Gus, Mikey and I are pretty much the only bunch sitting down at a table. Most of the inbetweeners in the cafeteria without a group to sit with stand around, holding their trays by their waists like scared cattle.

Gretchen places down her tray and takes a seat in front of me. "Look Spinelli, as much as I love you adding funny viral videos from Yourvids on to your Friendsite profile, they end up on to my news feed. Some of them are full of profanity and my mother sees the entirety of what I do. She won't tolerate it," nags Gretchen.

"Nice to see you too, Gretch," I say.

I've already forgotten everything she just said, but boy, I'm happy to see her.

"It's wonderful you all passed the admittance exam. Who knew it would have been a torrance test on creative thinking?" she starts.

TJ stops her. "No talk on school work, Gretch, lets eat," TJ says, stuffing his face with french fries.

I slam my hands on the table as I get up. "Scuse me guys, I'm gonna ask Vin Diesel if he wants to join us," I say.

I leave the table and approach the already popular table.

"Hey Vince," I say, making the whole table stop mid conversation.

"Spinelli," replies Vince, almost choking on his food. "When did you get here? Wow, you and TJ go to this school. Cool."

"And Gretchen, and Gus and Mikey," I add.

"Yeah right," he says.

"No, really. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to join us."

Ashley B's eyes widen like her tables being attacked. "Uh, timeout," she says next to Vince, making a T shape with her index fingers. "No offense, but just because you've lost your ponytails doesn't mean you can start hanging with us, no offense."

"None taken," I reply, turning from Ashley Bitch then to Vince. "Well, you know where we are."

"I'll come," says a girl, with bright bleached blonde hair standing up next to Ashley A.

Ashley A looks stricken. "Like, what are you doing?" she asks.

" _Hello?_ " the girl replies back at her. "You were the one in class today talking about having special relationships with everyone."

"That's just something you say to be nice, like a politician or a supermodel," replies Ashley A-hole.

The girl with bright blonde hair follows me back to our table.

TJ's the first to notice us. "Vince looks a lot different than I remember," says TJ looking at the girl and I.

"Hi, I'm Maddie," she says.

TJ's still looking at her. "In fact I remember you from somewhere, you know, apart from tutor class," says TJ, squinting his eyes.

"Lemme give you a clue," she says.

Maddie puts her tray down and goes into a handstand making almost everyone in the cafeteria, mainly the boys, to start gawping at her. Her long curly hair with a bird's nest of tiny pink ribbons brushes the floor. Her skirt is dangling by the gravity. What is she doing?

"Upside down girl!" Gus and Gretchen shout out together.

* * *

It's the end of the first school day. I'm just glad all the introductions and formalities are out of the way. Maddie as nice as she was, still returns back with the Ashleys. The gang and I, minus Vince, make our way out of school and on to the front path. We talk like we've _not_ not been together those last two years. All of us here hanging out together again is a trip. Gus doesn't hide the fact that he's swerving another bullet by not going to military school yet. Gretchen's raving about her busy timetable. Mikey goes on about the unreal acoustics of the school auditorium can really bring out his improved singing voice, like somehow his amazing singing can get any better. Teej can't shut up about his plans to infiltrate new tricks and shortcuts within the school. He has his arm around me. TJ's probably the only guy I'll let get away with doing that. I'd have to thwack another guy for trying to get fresh with me.

I suggest we spend the little amount of chump change we have left as we get closer to the market's parking lot. The automatic sliding doors of the Quicko-mart senses us coming in.

"I'm sorry, guys," Gus says, stopping us in our tracks, "I'm working at Kelso's today, don't wanna be late," and leaves us with a wave.

We used to go to Kelso's too, but I guess we've grown out of buying Monstickers and Ajimbos. Gus towers over the little saps from Third street going to the corner store.

Now, us foursome make our way inside the Quick-O Mart for some well deserved slurpos. TJ and I fill up a cup at the soft drink refill stand. Mikey and Gretchen fetch themselves some magazines to read inside of. Mikey's picked up Reader's Abstract and Gretch is having a breeze through Young Genius Girl magazine. The bored looking clerk, who must be Sue Bob Murphy, doesn't seem like she wants to be here, so there's probably not gonna be a time limit for how long they're allowed to read out of them.

The blueberry slurpo I'm gulping feels so righteous on my taste buds, like deliciously squashed up little Smurfs in ice. My ringtone goes off.

"You listen to Dogs Pajamas?" asks TJ in a shriek.

"Not really, my brother set up my new Peach iCell so I guess _he_ does," I reply, with a shrug.

 _"Ashley, you promised me you will go shopping for new clothes for school,"_ says Mom over the phone.

"I lied," I reply back to her on my phone, too tired to not to say the truth.

 _"Ashley Funicello Spinelli, don't make me embarrass you and buy you brassieres with me,"_ she starts.

"Okay, okay, lets co-operate mom," I say, now turning to Mikey and Gretchen. "Guys! I gotta go!"

"Mom problems? Say no more," TJ assures.

I drop my change for my drink on the counter, leaving my friends as I head to my pre-arranged shopping-date.

* * *

The Townsedge mall is beyond busy. I reach the top of the escalator to see my oh so lovely mom, crossed armed, pissed off, with two pretzels crumbled into a mush in her hand.

Fast forward.

"How was your first day?"

"Fine."

"Did you make new friends?"

"No. Maybe."

With that out the way, I'm forced into a teenybopper store.

Mom goes ahead of me and picks up some colorful clothes. She hands me a jeans skirt with butterflies on the stitching, waiting for my verdict. Not for me. She hands me a summer dress with bunched up arm sleeves. No way. Mom puts them back and goes for more combinations, almost completely unfazed by me not caring. She hands me some new clothes and pulls me to one of the changing rooms. With a huff I take the crappy clothes inside one of the rooms.

"Hey, that'll look cute on you," I hear my mom say, as she hands me a shirt with a flora pattern on it into my cubicle.

I get undressed and try on the shirt. I really don't want to get out of the changing rooms.

"I'm waiting, pookie," Mom says from behind the curtain.

"I don't want bees attracted to my shirt," I complain.

"Okay just, pick something out and meet me at the pay point," she says, sounding defeated after looking through almost everything.

I change back into my default dragginess and quickly have a look around the store. I pick out some clothes I like, some black jeans, red blouses, and a dark pink shirt with a skull on it. Weird, I usually don't do pink. I show them to my my mom and surprisingly, she actually digs them. I give her a peck on the cheek, sensing how she felt.

"This day is going so well, lets make this a mother daughter day."

Oh no, I lead her on. Now I won't see my friends until tomorrow.

We're now heading to, god knows what store next. What the? It's him. Troy leaves his _unitards_ behind and comes towards my mom and I.

"Hi. You must be Mrs Spinelli," says Troy reaching for my mom's hand.

"What are you doing?" I try to ask him discreetly.

"I see where you get your beautiful looks from, Ashley," he says. Uggh. Kissing my mom's hand.

Troy introduces himself to my mom.

"Why thank you, um, Troy. Ashley told me she didn't make any new friends today," Mom says, looking a bit dazed.

"Well, let me take her off your hands if you don't mind, Mrs Spinelli," Troy offers.

"Well, okay, have her back home by six. No later," Mom says. "He's cute," she oh so indiscreetly whispers, so that Troy can hear her.

Why Me? Why me?

Troy takes me by the arm and leads me past the rest of his jockey friends and out of site from my mom. I don't know what Troy is playing at but I'm ahead of his games.

"Okay Spinelli, you're free to go," Troy says.

"Huh? What are you yammering about? You said all that crap, not to do anything?" I ask.

"It doesn't take a genius to tell that your mom embarrasses you. You practically gave me a thousand yard stare with that frown, so I thought I'll let you get back to your friends. You do have friends, right?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Good. See you tomorrow, Shrimpy," he says, patting me on my head.

I push the weasel off of me. He acts like I'm not even pissed and returns back to his friends that are wearing matching jackets.

There's no Vince with them.

I still hate him.

* * *

 **"So, you're telling me, this Juliet chick kills herself for this guy she knew for a day?"** I ask.

"Isn't it beautiful?" goes Mikey next to me.

English class is a drag. But, damn near every class I have are with my friends. English with Mikey, Art with TJ, Maths with Gretchen, History with Gus and Mikey again. English class is split up into vocabs and identifying the themes of some sappy love junk play. Mikey is answering every answer flawlessly with so much pep that Miss Schwartz has to tell him to give the other kids a chance. Kind of a bad idea for the majority chatting behind their textbooks and drooling on their shirts.

It's the end of the lesson and Miss Schwartz puts the homework assignment on the board. "Okay class, I don't want to be hearing 'my dog ate my homework' excuse, you're not in elementary school and it's not cute anymore," she sighs.

Miss Schwartz sits back down behind her desk.

We sit in silence for a bit. We've all written the homework down. This lesson ain't going anywhere.

"So now what?" asks a guy from the back of the classroom.

"Gimme a break, you really expect me to time the lesson perfectly in sync with the be—" she says.

The bell rings for recess, or at least a break for us to get out of our classroom cages, play in our hamster wheels and sip from our water fountain dispensers.

The school has no fear factor for us freshman because we are all newbies. The school literally has no older kids. It's like we are the first generation. Everything seems too spacey though, cause all of us being in the same year makes it look even more exclusive. Outside is the track and field, the football arena, it's bleachers and a big open area courtyard, outside the cafeteria where pretty much everyone hangs out. I'm with the big guy whose reciting something he calls a Haiku poem while we wait for Gus, Gretchen and TJ to join us outside.

"Aye Mikey, I'm not a fan of extra work if I can help it," I say, checking my phone for Gretchen's usual text, that's always spell checked correctly to a T.

"Hopefully one day Spinelli, you will be fortunate enough to find your true calling that you are passionate for. Then it won't be work," lectures Mikey.

"Hi, interesting fashion choice," says this guy coming up to me.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"I'm Deshay. Woolly hat in the summer. Original," he says, looking at my hat.

I greet him with a nod and Mikey puts his notepad down and shakes his hand.

"You two certainly seem like you've avoided the MTV cultural debauchery and focused on being yourselves," he adds.

"Look guy, I'm waiting for my friends here," I say to shoo him off. I see TJ approaching. I look at him more closely. "In fact, did you rob a thrift store or something?"

I get a better look at Deshay. He's wearing cheap looking clothes, as if he's trying to look poor. A hat with furry ear flaps, 3D glasses with red and blue lenses, a browning-aged wife beater, tartan pants that barely go down to his ankles like he's fresh from hitting a nine iron on miniature golf and old beaten up flat shoes with little drawings on them. I hate fashion conscious people, like, why can't people just be themselves? But his clothes are so goofy, I hate to admit it to myself. I actually like it.

"It's called being hipster. If you ain't noticed, um?" Deshay asks.

I tell him my name.

"Spinelli, the whole school conforms to the mainstream hype," he adds.

TJ reaches us with a "Hey."

"You have the emo kids firstly," says Deshay.

"Emo? I thought they were goth?" I ask.

"Nope, emo. Short for emotional. Dark depressed teens who just wanna be dark and depressed," he says pointing at a flock who are wearing black tees, dyed hair and boots that are annoyingly just like my boots. TJ nudges me looking at their feet, reminding me.

"You have the Tech kids, who apparently moved here from foreign exchange, no doubt they are the elite brains of the school. I've heard their leader built a robot butler when she was only nine," Deshay says, looking towards a group of Asian teens, "and you have the school UN."

"The what?" I ask.

"The kids in foreign languages. That's right, they are supposed to help the ordinary teen in need."

TJ adds, "Don't forget the Wall Street kids made up of the math buffs and stuff," as he takes some slips out from under his hat. "Yeah. That's why I'm a bit late. I bought some stocks in comic books and Zeus sneakers. They made an app for it already and everything."

"And then of course you have the Hipster kids," Deshay continues. " _Yay_. Which are pretty much included with artists, actors, musicians. We let our _talents_ speak for ourselves."

Mikey stares into space. "Time is bliss," Mikey says to himself, tapping his pen against his notepad. "Ignorance is our own mortality."

Recess flies by. Long gone are the days of Third Street school when recess would feel like it could fill up most of the day.

* * *

It's study hall, or more recess depending on how we spend our time. I can just forget about finding Gretchen now. I'm with TJ, and were joshing together about how late we are able to stay up these days, having a later curfew and all.

We bump all of a sudden into Principle Third.

"Excuse me, young people," says Third. "As a matter of fact, I recall seeing you two before. Aren't you the noble kids who gave me back my one hundred dollars."

TJ and I say we were.

"It's good to see you again, sir," says TJ.

"No need to ask if you're enjoying the facilities, it's state of the art," says Third. "So much for my broker recommending me to invest in something meaningful. My investment is in you kids. Well, get back to your studies. You two should be studying around about now."

With a smile Principle Third disappears again.

I get the feeling I'm only gonna see him on rare occasions.

"Detweiler," I hear from behind us.

It's Menlo with a hall monitor sash around his torso. And I thought hall monitor lame-os only existed in middle school.

"What is it Menlo?" I ask, losing my delight from seeing the richest guy in town. Our principal.

Menlo ignores me and turns to TJ. "I have reason to believe you used a string on coin to get free soda. This is your detention slips. You can dispute at a tribunal," he explains, as he writes on his pad.

"Yeah, I mean, I couldn't help it honestly. It's was so hot and the line for the water fountain was so lo—" says TJ, taking his slips. "Hey! How'd you even figure out that I did it? I made sure there weren't any teachers or students around. Heck, the janitor thought it was a good idea."

You gotta love TJ's honesty. I would have denied it until the Ashleys found their brains.

"A little bird told me," says Menlo.

I grown, "What, Randall goes here?"

"Don't be so hasty. No he doesn't," replies Menlo at me.

Menlo hands me the same kind of slip.

"What?" I say.

"No hall pass, I have to write you up," says Menlo.

I take the stinking thing, and TJ and I go to study hall. For the first time, actually.

I catch the eyes of the janitor, who has been listening in on the whole thing. Weird. He looks familiar, but I've definitely never seen him before. Some kids go sliding past us across the school hall, and others begin making these funny prat falls around us. TJ loses it and is laughing his ass off. No wonder. The janitor's been waxing the same area for way too long with his floor buffer.

* * *

 **"Who wants to live to be ninety anyway?"** asks Joey, showing me his new tattoo. The black and green ink still raw on his arm.

"Those annoying girls who read twilight," I reply.

I take a good look at the designs on offer in the magazines. Skulls. Hearts. Devils. Bunnies. Drawn in intricate styles and patterns. There's some special tattoo edition Playdude right there in the open.

Gross.

A guy waiting on the couch in the waiting room moves towards Joey. "Excuse moi, bro-hemian, I'd leave that bandage on your arm if I were you. Don't wanna spread an infection. Total buzzkill."

"Let's go, Ashley," Joey says to me, not batting an eye to that guy, but taking his advise by covering his arm up again with the bandage.

Joey and I leave the store.

"You wanna drive?" Joey asks.

I just give my brother a death stare.

"Just kidding. Dad'll kill me anyway," he says, locating his car in the parking lot.

"Why haven't you ever come home since you got out?" I ask, getting in the car.

His Chevrolet low rider looks a bit beaten up but it's still an upgrade from all the other cars. He starts up his car, reverses and we're on the road. He turns down the radio, that turned itself on automatically.

"Leave it out yeah, baby sis. I like your old man but we don't see eye to eye," he finally says, braking hard at a red light.

I use the car visor on my eyes, as Joey puts the radio up. Not all the way up, just low enough so that we could talk if anything springs to mind. We park up at the Quick-O Mart, and he asks me if I want anything. But of course. When he comes back, his shopping bag's full of 40's, a magazine, a slurpo and bubble gum string. He's already taken a swig of his 40 before he comes back.

"So, we could go to the arcade and shoot imaginary zombies in two player or—" he says. He starts the car back up, igniting the accelerator and revving up the engine.

He always takes his keys with him, he knows me too well.

"We can shoot for real," he finishes.

We set off again, and to say that I'm a little anxious is the understatement of the year.

The building we stop at simply says 'The Gun Store.' Inside the store has these swinging doors, like the ones you see in old Western films. A guy on the counter with a bullet proof vest on and an ammunition strap, stands by the till with his arms rested on the glass covering the guns on display. He stands there like he owns the place.

"How's my not so favorite customer?" he asks Joey, removing his shades.

"That's not very nice, if I weren't made outta steel that would of broken my heart," replies Joey. "Three rounds in the shooting gallery, my man," says Joey, all of a sudden ushering some authority.

"What about the rugrat? We don't have any play pen waiting areas," the old sleezeball says.

"Be cool Louie, this is my sister. My consort," reassures Joey.

"No Joey, I can not let anyone under the age of sixteen control any firearm. Adult supervision or not," the cashier says.

Joey takes a saddened look at me, looks to the side and puts back on a smile.

"Wait. She's older than me, man. You have to cool it with the rugrat stuff, that is really offensive," says Joey, as the cashier raises his eyebrows, lifting up his wrinkles. "She has a disease that makes her look younger than she really is."

"Okay, what is her condition called, then?" the shop owner asks, looking frustrated.

Joey starts hitting his head, looking up at the ceiling. "It's uh, damn it. I know this, a, a congenital growth-hormone condition," he blurts out. "Like Gary Coleman or Andy Milonakis."

"Is this true, Joey's sister?" he asks me, ignoring Joeys advances.

"Sure! Yeah, of course, why not?" I reply, half-assing it, trying to deepen my voice. Just to realize that girls voices don't really deepen that much when we get older.

The cashier believes me, somehow, and I sign a contract. I stand in a row in front of a target with noise cancelling headphones on. I use a handgun, then a nine millimeter Uzi, an MP5, and then, oh baby, an AK47. The cashier has a change of heart and says I'm a natural, but Joey, not so much.

* * *

Joey drops me off home late afternoon, I do have homework still to do after all. My parents are on the driveway already, waiting for us.

The dead doorbell is why my parents are outside. Probably.

"Hi mom. Hi pops," says Joey as he gets out of his car.

Mom hugs him but Dad doesn't move from his spot.

"You're still killing, eh? 007?" says Joey, looking at Dad with Mom gradually letting him go from her hug.

"Go home, Joseph, you're drunk," says Dad, looking probably the most serious I've ever seen him before. More serious than when I destroyed the Thaddeus T Third statue when I was nine.

"Yeah. Whatever, man," starts Joey. "I bet you haven't told her yet, have you?"

"Stop it, Joseph. I'm warning you. This is bigger than you, me and your mother," Dad says.

What the hell are they talking about? If this weren't so mellow dramatic right now, I'd but in and say something.

"I think she's old enough now. Go on. Tell her the real reason why she went to middle school in lovely Rome," goes Joey.

"Ashley, go inside, princess," says Dad to me, his eyes still locked on Joey.

Joey goes back in his car and gives me my magazine. We do our special handshake. Sliding together our right hands, interlocking our fingers into a dap and then a lock with our pinky fingers.

"If anything happens. Live with me," Joey whispers to me.

* * *

 **Sign up day.**

A crowd is formed around the big noticeboard. Cheerleader tryouts today at the gym at 3:45. Football tryouts today on the field at 4:00. Maddie's on the top of a step ladder on one side, putting up a banner with it saying 'Go Warthogs' across the top of hallway. Two girls underneath her ladder are staring up at Maddie, looking scared of her, as if they've come off on the wrong end of an argument.

"Don't even think about trying out for cheerleading, Spinelli, the ogre tryouts are over there," says Ashley A, writing her name on the cheerleader list and drawing a little heart as a full stop.

"Don't worry. My mind turned off when you started talking," I reply.

That's weird, it's been two weeks and I have only seen three Ashleys.

"What gives? Where's Ashley Q?" I ask.

"Uh, FYI Spinelli, she doesn't _go_ to Thad high," Ashley A says.

"I didn't think I would ever see you four separated."

Ashley B approaches us. "She has no class anyways," Ashley B says, writing her name on the list. "Her dad couldn't even afford to pay off the examiner of the test. He went to a like, _certain state_ university," she says, now not looking at me and fixing up her makeup in her pocket mirror. "Ashley T, sign up and meet us later, hun. À bientôt."

I put my name under football tryouts. It's all boys so I don't expect to be greeted with open arms, but it should be fun.

I go to my locker, put my skateboard to the side to get my history textbook out and head to my first class. I look back and Ashley T is still there just looking at the noticeboard.

* * *

'That awesome moment when your mom thinks you have no money for school and gives you more #lolsotrue #lifehack', is what I type on my Chitter. It's recess now and I'm with the usual lot, except for my home-girl, Gretchen.

"History Shmistory," I sigh. "I don't get why we need to learn it, they're all dead anyway."

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it," says Mickey. "Look it up, Spin."

Gus' eyes light up at Mikey. "Hey, that's George Santayana. Only the dead have seen the end of war," says Gus.

Gus and Mikey go off on a tangent. TJ looks at me with a smile indicating Mikey and Gus. I've opened the floodgates and now they're talking as if we're back in the classroom.

"Hey Spinelli, I need you," is what I'm hearing.

It's Ashley T running up to me. I ask her what is it, as she drags me away from the guys.

"I can't" Ashley T says, pausing. "I can't dance."

"What are you talking about? You always go to cheer leading camp every summer."

"No duh, Spinelli. I've been hiding this from the Ashleys, like, forever. Every time we have a practical thingy I always find an excuse," she says. "My mom is sick, I got cramps, I twisted my ankle—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I say to make her stop. "Why don't you just get Maddie to help you?"

"You don't know her like I do, Spinelli. She can like, go all nuclear in a turn of a switch. Plus she blabs more than Amber in Clueless. If anyone finds out _me_ , _an Ashley_ , doesn't get in, I'll be the laughing stock of high school."

I look back at the three guys who are still probably talking about schoolwork, and back at Ashley T's puppy dog eyes. Meh, I might as well try to help her. I never go to study hall anyway.

We're at an empty dance hall on the second floor. I basically show Ashley T all the moves Mademoiselle Pavlova showed me. The balancing, the twirls, heck, I'm surprised I even remember it all. Ashley T can't keep count to save her life, but eventually after the first twenty minutes she's keeping up. I try to imagine what cheerleaders do, it's still kinda miles away from what ballet is.

I call Mikey on my cellphone and ask to rent out his freakish strength. I get him to lift Ashley T up and off the ground a few times. Ashley T recalls moves she had only watched other people do at camp.

"Okay, good," I say, observing Ashley T. "Lets get some front flips and cartwheels going."

Mikey walks away to get some safety mats, crammed by the side of the room.

"No way," says Ashley T. "I-I-I'm, scared I'm gonna fall on my face. Uh, I can't do this."

Mikey comes up to her. "Nothing worth doing is ever gonna be easy," says Mikey, slamming the mats down and putting his arm on Ashley T's shoulder.

"Besides, the worst thing that can happen is breaking your legs in four places and rupturing your spine," I say.

It's been almost an hour. What was she worrying about? She's a natural. She still kinda has two left feet, but she should be okay for this afternoon. It's the end of study hall break. Ashley T keeps thanking me and continues her puppy dog nature by following me around everywhere.

"Eeew, I'm sweating," she goes.

"Uh, like no duh Ashley T," I say, with my best ditzy blonde impression.

It's lunch now and the crud has really hit the fan. Rumors of my name being on the football tryout list have spread around high school quicker than the flew bug in the tuna fish tacos at Third Street. There's confusion because Ashley is also a boys name, but apparently its confirmed it is me as I am the only Spinelli in school. Girls I've never seen before are all up in my grill. So many of them are hovering around us. I cover my face with my wooly hat in a face palm.

The girls are speaking to me all at once. "Spinelli, you're so totes starting the feminist movement," one of them spews out, as they all start agreeing.

Ashley T is in-trance with them. "Yeah its like, so ridunkulous, right?" goes Ashley T back to that girl.

What a bunch of hooey.

"What are you girls talking about?" I ask, taking my face away from my hat. "For the most part, all I wanna do is cream a couple jocks in football if they think they're so tough."

The dozens of girls look at me bewildered like I've just straight up insulted them.

TJ nudges his head towards us. "What Spinelli is trying to say here," says TJ, breaking the silence. "Is that she wants to straighten some jocks out but she can't help it if she ends up liberating all you girls out there. It's more about equality, than it is boycotting, well, boys all together. She's a rad chick, this one," he adds, looking proud of me, knocking my chin with a little tap.

"Not you too, Teej."

Vince with his posse of all the other jocks come striding towards our table, with Troy and Wylie amongst him.

"Yo Spinelli, coach wants to see ya," Vince says, with his friends yammering away behind him.

I stuff my food up quickly in my gob and abandon the rest on the tray with Ashley T with me. I can hear TJ talking to the surplus of girls left on our table. He's going off about how he hates prejudice and encouraged me to go for my dreams. Smooth TJ, velvety smooth.

I head outside the cafeteria alongside Vince and Ashley T to the track. A large hench guy, who should be in a cave somewhere lifting boulders, turns around. There's a whistle dangling from his neck, which looks really tiny in comparison.

"You the one they call Ashley?" he asks with the most thickest Russian accent I've ever heard since Luke Von Headlock in Doomsday Slamfest.

I just nod, kinda taken a back by his stature. He chews hard on his gum, scratching his thick beard.

"Girls cheer lead," he says, looking from Ashley T to me. "Not play football."

Troy is holding back his laughter, as the others jocks start muttering.

Vince comes up. "C'mon coach, she can play, give her a chance," I hear Vince say.

I turn back to lunch with both my fists clenched. Why bother try to argue with him?

"Spinelli, where are you going?" Ashley T asks.

"Forget it, I don't wanna do it anymore," I say.

"You told me not to give up today."

"Look, even if I still want to play, how am I gonna convince the world's strongest coach of America?"

* * *

In both my following classes I'm wound up. By the end of the day I just wanna go home, but Ashley T catches me in the hallway and drags me to foreign languages. We walk up to a classroom with United Nations plastered on the door. The Nations part has been scribbled out and replaced with Nerds. We step inside. There's a circle of desks pushed up together, with a little international flag on each one. I can see France, Spain, Japan, America, England, Norway, Mexico and India written on the chalkboard. On the chalkboard there is a tally with each country, under 'successful settlement', with India leading more than anyone else.

"Ah, Spinelli," says the former guru kid, Jimmy, sitting down with a little Indian flag, glued on by gum, on his desk. "I wondered if you would turn up. Your aura has certainly left a strong impact on the entire school body."

"Hey Jimmy," I say, greeting him back.

"Okay, we all know what happened but as you're new to this, this is how it works. You state your case, we vote yay or nay with your appeal and then you have the choice to choose who will represent you."

"That big jerk-off missing link looking coach Swords-and-Burger."

"Schwarzenberger," corrects Jimmy.

"Whatever, won't let me tryout for the stinking football team."

"Hm, okay," Jimmy says leaning his hand on his thick black hair "All those who agree that Spinelli should do the tryout, say yay." Everyone says it as their hands goes up, even Ashley T's.

"I guess that leaves you to pick—"

"I want you."

"Aww man, that coach could squash me. Roberto, look for school laws and regulations."

The boy representing Spain looks through folder binders muttering. "School rationing, school regulations, school standards, school try outs, a hah, lo tengo," he says, taking out a folder and handing it to Jimmy.

Jimmy takes it from Roberto's hand and reads it over.

"Hellow Spinelli, how are you?" asks this blonde freckly kid, with the red, blue and white flag on his desk.

"Hey. You're that Yope kid, right?" I ask.

"Uh huh, I came back to America the day before. I still need to see Mr Goos," says Yope.

"I'll tell him. I'm sure he'll be stoked."

"Stoked?" asks Yope, all confused.

"Yes, this is perfect. Lets go," Jimmy says standing up from his desk. "Wait a minute. Spinelli. There's still a vacancy for Italy if you're interested?"

"Non c'è modo, I think I'll pass. No luck with girls joining the UN, huh?" I ask, looking at all the blank stares from the boys.

"We had Molly Sanchez for Mexico, but she stays after school very rarely. She has a real bad sugar problem," says Jimmy.

We quickly head to the gym, where both the girls and guys are meeting up and heading to their changing rooms. There's the coach, crossed arms with his damn scary demeanor. A straight carbon copy of my mom waiting for me at the foot of the mall's escalator. I'm too harsh on my mom. I want my mom. Sort of.

"Um, excuse me, coach," Jimmy says with a gulp, tapping the coach on the shoulder.

Vince turns up, beaming at me, somewhat.

"According to Federal law, through Title IX, coaches must let girls try out for the football team. If a coach denies a girl, in this case, Spinelli, that opportunity, then she has the right to pursue a lawsuit against the school and the coach, um, sir," finishes Jimmy with a gulp.

"Not to mention it's sexist and like, totally sucky," says Ashley T beside me.

The Coach lets out a sigh. "Right, little lady. Your regimen?" he asks me.

"My what?" I ask back.

"Breakfast. What did you eat?"

"Krusher Krispies."

He rolls his eyes and comes towards me.

"I give you chance. Use girl changing room. Be on the field at 3:59. No later." He looks back at the cheerleaders and jocks turning up. "You better be right about her, LaSalle," he says to Vince, loud enough for me to hear.

Menlo, in a ridiculous purple mascot outfit, hands me the kit of a jersey, shoulder pads, and a helmet.

"I, uh, guess you don't need this," says Menlo, throwing the protective cup over his shoulder. "Good luck. It's such a terrible phrase that makes no sense, especially in the context of football, but, break a leg out there."

I go and get changed. The hit of perfume hits me immediately. The changing room is filled with cheerleading hopefuls, the only space that isn't taken up is beside Ashley A.

"Like, well done for taking my advice," says Ashley A, spraying perfume on her armpits.

"Kick some ass out there, Spinelli," says Maddie, dressing down to her sports bra.

I wanna get dressed quickly and get out of here but I can't.

"Spinelli, why aren't you getting changed now?" asks Ashley T, next to the two other Ashleys spraying her hair.

I don't know what to say to her. I guess, I've never really had the pressure of having to look a certain way when I undress in front of anyone before. I keep putting off buying bras with Mom, but whats the point when Mikey has better jugs then I do. Not saying I'm exactly the flattest here right now, but I'm the only one without at least a tube top on underneath. I take off my black apron dress, my red shirt until I'm down to my vest. My head starts to throb and I feel really hot.

"Hey, do you need some of these?" Ashley B asks with a snigger.

I take the soft stuff from her hands without thinking or paying much attention. It feels like all of a sudden everyone is looking at me. Ashley A and a few of her friends start to laugh at my direction. I look down and see a wad of toilet paper in my hand. I throw it away and quickly put on my shoulder pads.

"We're just joking, Spinelli," says Ashley A, with the most insincere smile ever, as she leaves.

I wait for every girl to leave, until the changing room is completely empty. I take a quick look in the mirror. I like what I see, I mean, I've grown some definition in my arms since middle school. But, those girls are really getting to me. Damn changing room. I was trapped in their dojo, locked in a steel cage match. Powerless.

It's 3:58. I'm ready on the field as Vince embraces me with a soft head butt. Troy nudges me off balance with a shoulder barge and pats me on the head. The weasel. Coach gives a long winded speech about the importance of football. The warm up is a couple of sprints, up, down and zig zagging around cones. We charge right into dummies in a few rallies until we start an eleven on eleven match. Coach picks me to be linebacker first and Troy is the other teams quarterback. Sweet. It's kick off and I look for Troy and I charge at him. _OOOF._ I'm on the ground and this hefty guy gets off of me. I see him high five Troy, as Troy's pass makes it to the other side.

"You okay, Spinelli?" asks Vince, getting me up.

"I'm just getting warmed up," I reply.

"You got up from Hercules, he's the biggest ninth grader in the school," says Vince, all excited.

The cheerleaders have turned up. I can see Mikey and Gretchen in the bleachers. My head is throbbing but I think I can hear, "A-S-H, L-E-Y, Now she way more like the guys, Spinelli, yeah, yeah, Spinelli, yeah, yeah. S-P, I-N-E, Double-The L-I, Spinelli, yeah, yeah, Spinelli," from the cheerleaders. I'm so delirious, I might be making the chant up in my head.

Another kick off, this time I won't fall for the beginners trap. I dodge Hercules this time, he's such a big slow oaf. Why did I let him get me last time? Troy is in my sights, as he is looking for someone to pass to. I tackle him off the air, making him smash hard on the ground. I see Vince running with the ball our way to the end zone. Touchdown.

"Oooh, it hurts don't it?" I say, on top of Troy.

"That's more like it, Shrimpy," says Troy, removing his gum shield, getting himself up.

He gives me a head butt, a dap and his signature wink.

The football tryout is now a breeze. I'm on fire as the coach keeps rotating and altering everyone's position. Playing as the wide receiver is really sticking with me, the coach has kept me with that role longer than anyone else. I feel bad for Vince, as this is supposed be his position and he does not seem to get a solid run going. With a final whistle from the coach, the guys all hug me, grabbing my helmet's visor and giving sumo chest bumps. I look back at the coach whose already walking back inside.

The changing room is like lunch again, every girl giving me their kudos in their own ways. Ashley T and Maddie give me girly hugs.

I'm dressed. I head out as Mikey and Gretchen are waiting for me.

"That was truly amazing, Spinelli, defying all the odds," says Mikey.

"You know, I'm really intrigued with the physics behind such a weird shaped ball and it's flight mechanics. But forget that, you were awesome," says Gretchen.

"TJ couldn't make it?" I ask.

"He is in fact, attending a detention," says Gretchen.

"What, again? What's wrong with that boy?" I ask.

We head to the mall after we've gotten some slurpos.

I start to really feel the aftermath of the tackle from Hercules. The arcade is not that far. Over the banister, I can see Vince with Ashley B on a bench, talking about god knows what. There's something pretty shiny in her hand.

**[PLAY SONG "Brandun Deshay-Kick life's butt" AT THIS POINT]**


	4. Mr & Mrs Lasalle

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 3

Vince POV

* * *

 **Ashley slides a ring down my finger and I do the same.**

"Why are we doing this again?" I ask.

"I've already told you. All the couples our age do this. It's a purity ring," Ashley says. "To show our abstinence to each other. It's not like, a for sure for sure thing. It's just to show everyone that if you so much as flirt with my boyfriend, I'll claw your eyes out with my designer nails."

"You're cute. But you scare me sometimes," I say, as she gives me her don't-be-silly look.

We leave the Townsedge mall and head into the Moda store. It's friggin' huge in here, somehow the elevators in here are bigger than the ones in the mall. Life-like manikins always freak me out. There are racks and racks of clothes, this open area of a catwalk and this TV monitor above us that's showing a model fashion show on a loop. It's so big in here yet there's only a couple of customers. I feel my Blueberry vibrate in my pocket. I got a friend request from Spinelli. Cool.

Ashley charges towards her prey of outfits and I'm here just surveying the area. I swear she has forgotten she's even here with me. I'm a guy so I can't go anywhere near this stuff. Whatever. I try to lighten the mood and pick a bra out. With one of them against my chest I do a step, step, sashay down the catwalk.

"Stop it, Vince," Ashley says, losing her battle of holding back her laugh. "You'll get us both chucked out."

I put the bra back on the rails. Were back to business and I'm waiting for Ashley, as she's trying on these clothes by some Italian guy. I think she said his name was—

"Claudio Puccini," she says, rummaging through the rainbow of tops. "This designer really knows a thing or two about flair."

Every top literally looks the same to me. If that, maybe just a tiny bit different.

"Did you see Spinelli out there today? She was taking names and doing some pure damage," I say.

"Uh-huh. What do you think of this one, Vince?" Ashley asks, holding a yellow top against her chest.

"Nice. It's a bit expensive though, isn't it?" I ask, looking down at the Two hundred dollars tag.

"Oh, you're right," she says, placing the shirt-dress back with the others. "How ever will we go on? Tabitha? Kristine? How are we ever gonna support the children?" she whines dramatically, setting the back of her hand to her head, in a pretty good English accent.

"Ha-ha, okay Mary Poppins."

"Like, I'm not expecting you to have that kind of money, hun," she says, taking out a golden American Express credit card. "It's all on daddy."

"Ain't that kind of thing supposed to be used only for emergencies?"

"Cha, a fashion emergency."

She buys a set a clothes like she's just taken the store for ransom. The cashier's till makes a _kerching_ and her receipt reads like a scroll. We leave the store, finally, and Ashley turns to me with a sigh, putting down her shopping bags.

"Okay, beautiful BF of mine, its your turn. It better not be Porta Potty Time Machine, it's supposed to totally suck, right?" she asks in a pout.

"Me no know. I'm still gonna see that with Troy on our 'Bad films Thursday.' Don't worry, I've got something fun for us to do," I say, rubbing my hands together.

I lead Ashley to the outdoor batting cages back in town. We get there and I ask the booth attendant for "Two please." We have to take an extra arm band for the coat room, because Ashley's bags take up too much space. Ashley and I have our own rows. There's little kids with their parents, some teenagers and a few elderly people. Us two are pretty much the only one's on a date, from the looks of it.

"Okay Ashley. When the ball comes to you, just hit it."

I don't think she heard me. On my left side I can hear her screaming, and air whiffs of her missing swings with her bat. No doubt I'd be hitting my baseballs out of the stratosphere, if it weren't for this netting. I turn my pitcher machine off and go inside her lane and guide her though it. She stops trying and starts to go limp with me behind her.

"Ashley, it's no fun if I do all the work," I say.

"Sorry. I can't help it when you have your strong arms around me," she says.

I leave her again and she says she'll get the hang of it.

"Aaaaah! I think I hit it!" she goes, making just enough contact to make the ball roll a few feet. She begins to hit shots more this time without me. Actually making the ball hit the roof of the protective net a few times. Her pitching machine is on the rookie setting, but all that considered, she's pretty good.

"You don't have to scream every time you hit it, you know?" I say.

"But that's how—aaaah!, the pros do it," she says, panicking every time the ball is pitched to her.

"This is baseball, not tennis."

"Like, whats the difference?"

It's late afternoon so I walk Ashley to her big house. Every part of her house is white, except for the bushes around the angel water fountain with a few cars parked around it.

"Walter. It's me, Ashley," she says looking up at the security camera.

She tells me that my idea of a date is evil and inhumane but she had fun. I say it was the same for me too.

The pearly gates open and she turns to me. "See you tomorrow, Vince."

Two guys in suits and bow ties take over and pick up her Moda shopping bags. She hugs me and leaves as she goes inside.

I take my long trek home. Another little light jog warm down, I guess.

I'm home and get the usual greet from Mom and Dad. I accept Spinelli's Friendsite request with my first sniff of free WiFi. My cheapskate dad is starting to rub off on me, not to mention I'm starting to feel my stache, just like his, ping out random hairs on my upper lip. I go in the living room to check on my trophy case. All my medals for baseball, basketball, soccer and other awards are here. You name it, I've done it, or I haven't gotten around to doing it yet. Even the Little Miss Blush sash, that I coached Spinelli to win, is there. Mrs Spinelli practically wrestled Spinelli's tiara off of me. All that's missing now is my winners medal for the high school football championship.

Mom tells me, "Dinners ready." Great, right now is the best time for some grub.

I sit at the end of the table in the kitchen. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. Like, a big Trojan horse. Hey, that reminds me.

'Me: Hey T, have u recovered from ur beatdown 2day? Lol.' I type on my Friendsite instant messenger.

'Troy Morteza: Bro, a gurl tackled me today. I have to punch someone n watch a Stallone movie just to balance it out.'

New message, notification.

'Ashley Spinelli: Hey, remember 2 add TJ, Gus, Gretchen and Mikey. My number is 501-3110.'

'Me: K thanx. U were unstoppable today, you should deffo make the team.'

'Last seen 19:49 ✔✔.'

Refresh.

Still nothing. Spinelli must be offline.

"Vincent!" my mom yells, midway of serving herself more potatoes. "No phones at the table."

"Sorry, sorry," I reply.

I type like a ninja under the table and feed myself with my other hand, not to be suspicious.

"So Vincent, you think you're gonna make the football team?" asks Mom.

"Yeah, I think so," I reply.

"Think so?" echoes Dad. "A lot of tuition tax credit went into your scholarship fund. That means a lot of people are putting their trust in you."

"Franklin," Mom cuts in.

"No, he needs to hear this," goes Dad. "I don't want you caught up in any of those high school parties. Buckle down and make sure you earn this free education you're getting. The last thing I wanna hear is you spending time with any girls when you should be studying or training."

"He's too young to have a girlfriend," chuckles Mom. "Isn't that right, Vincent?"

"Um, sure Mom," I reply.

New message.

'Ashley Boulet: Lets make it official Vinceyyy. Add me as your girlfriend.'

'Me: Y? R people saying stuff?'

'Ashley Boulet: No. Thats actually what Im hoping for.'

Vince LaSalle is now friends with Gretchen Grundler.

TJ 'crazy monkey boy' Detweiler has now joined Friendsite.

I add him almost immediately.

Spinelli has uploaded a video from Yourvids of this dopey fella guy sliding off of a treadmill in full pelt. I like this, and so do thirty other people. Damn, that's a lot of likes for one random post. I look up Spinelli's profile. She's updated her photo with her and Gretchen together in a selfie. Her background picture is her with the original lot of Gus, Teej and the rest. Wow. She has one thousand, four hundred and eighty two friends and counting. Which completely trounces my three hundred and twelve.

'Ashley Spinelli: I better or else coach iz gonna hav 2 meet my 2 frendz madamme fist.'

'Me: Lol.' I type back.

"Vincent!" Mom yells.

Dad looks pissed off too.

I didn't notice I literally laughed out loud when I typed it. I excuse myself and take my plate by the sink, my back facing my parents. I freely take my cellphone out of hiding.

It's good to hear that old Spinelli phrase. It takes me back.

Spinelli Ashley is now friends with Troy 'The King' Morteza.

I scuff some steak and veg in my mouth, all hunched over.

TJ 'crazy monkey boy' Detweiler is now friends with Vince LaSalle.

I confirm it. Ashley Boulet wants everyone to know we are dating. Vince Lasalle is now in a relationship. I've been in a relationship for twenty seconds and I'm already getting notifications blowing up on my status.

Ashley Armbruster likes this.

Maddie Feldman likes this.

Troy 'The King' Morteza likes this.

Man, life was so much easier back in middle school when you would go out with a girl who has a crush on you and split up on the same day, and you two would still be totally happy.

Refresh.

TJ 'crazy monkey boy' Detweiler likes this.

I'm practically married at fourteen.

* * *

 **I've barely convinced myself** that my blended vegetable, fruit, vitamin smoothy is better than the sodas at school, even though sugar is what my body really wants. The vending machine has Martian piss soda, Bubble guts cola, Hershey squirt chocolate milk, Angry dragon energy drink and H2WHOA.

"Got any change?" asks Hercules with his hand already out.

"I'm out, man. I don't really carry money around with me at school. No point," I reply.

Hercules shrugs and walks away from the vending machine. He hasn't left his gaze from it. He runs with a shoulder barge into it. Nothing happens. He does it again harder and two Martian Piss sodas come out. He hands me the other one. I tell him thanks, but no thanks. We move along to the notice board in the hallway, with the pinned on rainbow colored sheets. The names of the new members of chess club, which are not many, are on there. There are the new Wall street stock seller positions, the human guinea pigs for the science club and several names written in a swirl pattern for poetry circle.

But nothing for football or cheerleading.

"Aye Wylie! Go long!" Hercules shouts, throwing his extra can at Wylie, whose just come into school.

Wylie catches it.

"This best not be a shake up frag grenade," says Wylie, carefully flicking the top of the can away from his face.

"Don't trailer park boys like soda showers?" asks Hercules.

"Herk, not cool," says Wylie, taking sips from his drink. "Besides, your Milf of a mom doesn't seem to mind though, she's digs the whole man stink."

Herk's much better to say. The name Hercules makes me think of the Greek hero too much.

"You're off your nut, Wyles," laughs Herk. "But that reminds me, I had an epiphany last night," he growls with a burp, ushering me and Wylie to listen in.

"That you don't have a soul?" adds Wylie, looking up at Herk's ginger hair as he adjusts his blue trucker hat on top of his blonde scruffy hair.

"That Americans want to be more Irish," finishes Herk, squashing his soda can effortlessly at Wylie, making him gulp and tread more lightly. "Americans are obsessed with it. Anyone that has even one percent of Irish in their blood think that they're Irish-American now. They celebrate St. Patricks day like they automatically get it. Every pubs gotta have something Irish about it, like all we do is drink."

Wylie's face stays motionless, before he smirks with his dimples. "You're saying it like Americans are trying to be racist against Irish people or something," Wylie says, now pausing at me. "Sorry Vince."

I screw my face at Wylie and almost face-palm. "Wrong word Wylie. Now that I think about it, ever had one of those all green Shillelagh sundaes at Floppy burger? Those are nasty," I say.

"Okay, so what's this gotta do with your Milf mom?" probes Wylie at Herk again in a smirk.

Troy, whose just arrived, cuts in. "Good attempt on coining the phrase Milf mom, but leave those to me. You're just saying mom twice like ATM machine, nah mean?" goes Troy.

"Brazzers!" shrieks Herk, as if we know what he meant. "The website? Here's me thinking it meant bras, but it's an Irish slang term for prostitute."

"Now you're talking," says Troy, taking his hands out from his jacket's pocket, scrolling through his phone.

"Stuff like that has it's advantages," shrugs Wylie, looking longingly at the notice board. "But I need football, its probably the only thing that can make me less distracted. Sure, there's watching TV, shop cart racing, shooting beer bottles, but how I'm going, my junk's about to fall off, it looks like a freaking—"

I see Ashley coming by with the other girls. She's in her cute yellow cardigan she bought the other day.

"Hold the cellular, Wylie. Ladies present," I interject, as Ashley play fights with me with a strangle around my neck and I pretend to strangle her back as we embrace into a hug.

"Hey!" shouts Troy at us, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Domestic violence is a seriously serial issue."

Troy pushes me off Ashley, holding me back and pretending to restrain me.

"You shouldn't have to be beaten like all the other football player's wives," says Troy to Ashley.

"Get your own boyfriend, Troy," moans Ashley at Troy, moving back to her friends.

I elbow Troy in his stomach to get him off of me.

The social studies teacher, Miss Rosemary, comes our way. "Oh, morning, you little sunshines are up bright and early," she greets us, with one pink and one blue sheet in each of her hands.

Troy tries to snigger when Miss Rosemary says this so soft and delicately, but it comes out more like a wince, while he's holding his stomach.

"Remember, you are all smart and wonderful young people and it's not the end of the world if you don't get into what you want. That's for God to decide in the rapture, if you have sex before you marry," Miss Rosemary adds, pinning the sheets on the noticeboard.

I rub my abstinence ring on my finger. I try not to look at Ashley but I feel her eyes draw me in. She's been looking right at me the whole time.

Miss Rosemary leaves the board for us to have a look. It's the moment of truth. The girls and guys move in closer to see if their names are on the list. I look at the new football team sheet on the noticeboard. Vince...Vince...Vince, hey, here I am. I'm chosen as the wide receiver. Troy's quarterback, but where's Spinelli? She's not on here, she'll be crushed.

Troy and the rest of the guys wanna congratulate me, but I leave. I have to see coach. I brush off my new teammates, and I head to the coach's office.

I go through the basketball court and there's a ball just lying in the middle of the court. I guess I'll try my luck, I've only played anything other than football for fun. The only disadvantage of focusing solely on football is that training takes up time when I can be dominating every other sport. I take the basketball in my hands and bounce it a few times.

I hit the three pointer from half court. Swish swish.

"Not bad."

Who said that? I look behind and some janitor guy is standing there. He's a fairly average height dude, shorter than me, with all blue overalls. There's something that seems distinct about his bald spot and shaggy hair on either side.

He kicks his bucket carelessly behind himself, somehow not spilling it.

"Thanks," I reply.

"You gonna pass the rock, or not?" he asks, cupping his hands out.

I reach down for the ball and bounce it to him. He bounces the ball on the spot. Does it again. Now he's bouncing in between his legs. Holding the ball in his hand he begins spinning the ball on his index finger, giving the ball more momentum each time.

"You got skills," I say.

"You're in the football team and from the looks of it, you're ambidextrous," he says, sounding like he completely brushed off my compliment.

"That means I don't have a favorite side, right? Yeah, I kick lefty and throw righty," I explain.

"So, everything is just perfect for you then," says the janitor.

He throws the basketball back at me and I catch it.

Can I confide in this guy? He works for the school, sure. But he's not exactly a teacher. Whatever.

"No," I say. "I mean, I can catch a ball standing still but I can't steal the ball when I'm running. My fingers are like grease."

The janitor lets out a smile. "You don't know how to steal, huh?"

"Yeah, footballs I can't steal footballs," I say, bouncing the basketball to him again.

"Stealing in any sense is such a harsh word. Lets just say, borrowing in spite," he says, bouncing the ball around me in a circle. "You see how stealing always gets a bad rap, right?"

"Yeah, man. It's wrong."

"Yes, but in the context of starving kids stealing bread for their starving family, is that wrong?"

"Uh," I think aloud.

"Hows about you? I expect you've taken something that was not yours when, I don't know, whenever you were _pranking_ someone with your friends?"

"How'd you—?"

"What makes you think you had the right to do what you felt like back then, and take whatever you wanted. Because, _you didn't_. _But you had a purpose, so it was all right,_ " he goes, in a oddly patronizing way. "Stealing is wrong, but stealing is subjective."

The janitor throws the ball into the hoop as it bounces off the backboard and in. He does it all while not taking his eye off me.

"Secure the ball into your torso with purpose when you're stealing it," he advises, walking out of the gym.

I feel uneasy but I feel inspired at the same time. I wait for the janitor to leave. He left his bucket and equipment here.

I go down to the teacher's section of the gym. As I knock on coach Schwarzenberger's office door, I hear the basketball bounce until it eventually stops.

Coach invites me in. He's bench pressing underneath a mammoth amount of weight.

"Coach. Thanks for making me, um, the wide receiver, but—"

"This is about Ashley Spinelli. No?" asks Coach, still looking upwards as he reps.

"Yeah. Why didn't she make the team? She was awesome in the trials and she totally creamed Troy."

He stops his rep and puts the weight back on the rack above him. He walks behind his desk.

"Every ounce of me wanted to get rid of something so short and puny from ever stepping foot in my squad," he says.

Hey. You don't know Spinelli like I do. I feel like trouncing him. Wait. What am I thinking? He could squash me into a Vince smoothy. Knock me into Vincedom Come.

"But respect from me is earned. Not given," he continues.

"So what gives, sir?" I ask.

"She is strong little lady. Tough like Aardvark nose hair. Ashley reminds me of my niece, Ursula, in my homeland. She can juggle bowling balls. In fact." He moves from behind his desk and comes closer to me. "I chose her over you, Lasalle. Sharper. Stronger. Maybe not faster. You outrun every ball thrown to you. Her style is reckless though, and my whole strategy would have to change for her."

"Can't she be like, an understudy or something?" I ask. Again.

"Excuse me? It has been already chosen. Do you want me to choose her over you?"

I stop. Spinelli is a really good friend, but winning the football championship means everything to me. It's the main reason I've even come to this high school.

"No. No sir."

"Great. Now don't disturb me again without notice, early. I feel my arms going, how they say in America, scrawny," he says, moving to his steel dumbbells this time.

* * *

The safety cones are placed along the ground in wavy lines. There are stops signs, silly cardboard cut outs of pedestrians, plastic deer and there's a speed camera right at the end of the track.

"Driver's ed," announces Mr Foley to the class. "The authentic simulation, but this is not any video game, _Bobby get off you're phone_ , this is real life, there are no do overs." He shakes his head at Bobby whose only now reacting. "If it we're up to me, you teens would not be able to get permits until you're seventeen. Only because it's required by those bureaucrats downtown, I have to teach you runts the fundamentals. Who wants to come forward to at least, _try_ not to drive like a reckless hoodlum?"

The whole class look away from Mr Foley. The wind outside makes Mr Foley's toupée hold on for dear life. Does that mean he glued it on to his head? His hands are now dug into the pockets of his Nascar replica jacket, he'd probably find any excuse to wear. It's only been three weeks into school and he has already made himself a reputation. I've heard of teachers out to get you, but not one that seems to go about it like its part of a teacher's job description.

Susan raises up her hand to volunteer. "I will, sir," she says.

Susan should ace this. She's been always really into her books since Third Street.

"Are you sure?" asks Mr Foley.

"Um, yeah, I'm—"

"Because the last student I taught who said they we're ready, stalled in the middle of an intersection and caused a eight car pile up and you wouldn't want that to happen to you would you?"

"No," shudders Susan, whose beginning to cry.

"I don't want to have the responsibility of telling your parents the sad news that their only daughter is critically injured in hospital, and the only money they can afford on your operation is what they we're saving for you in your college tuition. Only for you to be already brain dead so they have to pull the plug, no doubt tearing your already traumatized family apart, causing your mom to take her own life and your dad to be committed for insanity for the guilt he has been building up for having to perform your euthanasia, huh? You wouldn't want to go through with that? Would you? Would you?"

Susan runs off in tears back into the school, leaving the class and I with this psychopath.

"Well," grunts Mr Foley. "That's one down."

Gus pushes his way up for it. "I'll do it, sir."

Mr Foley ushers Gus forward and opens the driver door letting us see inside. Gus sits on the drivers seat. Mr Foley breaks down the names of the three pedals and pretty much every boring part of driving imaginable. Every question is directed to Gus though, which he answers flawlessly to Mr Foley's surprise. It's so obvious that Mr Foley's annoyed, as everyone starts muttering and sniggering. He challenges Gus to take the wheel and drive around the course, which he does. We all watch as Gus goes around the track in great speed, avoiding the cones and halting at all the stop signs, making the car jolt each time. At the end of the track the timer says personal best and new school record. Gus drives back and starts high-fiving each of us.

"Did I do well enough to pass, sir?" asks Gus, as I get up closer to congratulate him.

"Sorry Flattop, no one likes a brown noser," sneers Mr Foley under his breath at Gus. "You see, records are not meant to be broken when we are practicing safe driving. Had you been driving for real, you would have clearly been too dangerous for the road. That's a detention for you Gus—"

"What?" I go, as everyone starts gasping in surprise.

"I hope that teaches a lesson to all of you who think driving isn't serious business," Mr Foley says. He holds his back in pain and stretches up straight. "Damn, being a teacher really puts stress on your back."

The feint sound of the bell blows from inside of the school, and the class starts to leave for the next lesson. Gus and I just stand there.

"Gus, that right there was majorly messed up, man. I'll speak up for you, or get the United Nerds to step in or something," I suggest, patting Gus on the back.

"Don't bother," sighs Gus, looking down at his smart brown shoes. A total contrast of my clean Jamaal sneakers. "These things always happen to me," he goes, hanging his head low until he reaches inside of the school.

I'm the last one left outside. I take one look at Mr Foley's stupid course and turn around to go back inside.

I walk down the hallway as I notice I'm being eyedballed by all the other cliques of the school. The cheerleaders going past me give a flicker of a cheeky "Hi!" with a flutter wave of their fingers. Wall street kids ask me to negotiate with them in complete and utter jargon. The hipster kids look down at my outfit and start laughing when I'm further away from them. The tech kids lower down their phones and switch from English to a more frantic Japanese when I make my way passed them. Finding my locker, I take my football and my textbooks out. I'm next to some emo kids talking to Mikey.

"Sup?" I greet to them, as they slowly turn to look at me.

The emo kids roll their eyes, ignore me and say bye to Mikey as they leave. Whatever then.

"Hello friend, how goes thee?" asks Mikey, full of genuine pep.

"Hey man, you won't believe what Mofo-ley did to Gus, he—" I begin.

"Ah, parting is such sweet sorrow," goes Mikey, his hand on my shoulder, stopping me mid sentence. "English calls me."

Mikey as quick as he was to say hello, leaves straight back up the hallway. He goes up to Spinelli whose waiting for him, her eyes now off her phone from probably texting someone. I haven't seen or talked to the big guy in forever but I see him everyday now. I smile to myself for some reason and then I stop. I feel the leather sleeves of my Warthog jacket and for some reason I wish I wasn't wearing it.

* * *

My ten or so teammates and I go to the park to chill after school, but practice still comes first. We have a few yards but its just too small to throw a football back and forth. The other side of us seems be to taken up by those guys that used to go to Third Street school. The pale kids. Only they are playing outside, so they're technically not pale kids anymore. I recognize Sedgewick, he's still sporting those thick glasses, he's wearing a long cloak and holding an oversized plastic grey sword. They're all in costume, straight out of a medieval history book.

Before I can help it, I'm telling my friends that I know them.

Wylie looks at them and then back at me. "All right then, Dr Dolittle. Translate nerd and ask the pale kids to do their mythical mumbo jumbo somewhere else," orders Wylie, swiping the football off me.

"Pale kids?" asks Herk, screwing his face in confusion.

"Yeah," replies Wylie, with a laugh. "Vince and I went to the same elementary school as these weirdos."

"Hey!" shouts Troy. "We're not about to bully these guys off the park, just ask them, Vince."

Herk screws his eyes even harder. "We don't bully anyone at all, and my fists are getting itchy," goes Herk. "There's something about their greasy skin and chicken spot complexion that makes me wanna pummel them."

"That's just your Irish side talking, Herk, it's hereditary," says Troy, standing up in front of us, walking back and forth. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, us being bullies is supposed to be part of the high school circle of life. Nerds and jocks are like Yin and Yang. We're hazing them just to initiate, 'hey, we're gonna take your lunch money' and not 'yo, you've earned a place in our greek fraternity.' It's supposed to toughen them up so that they look back at their high school years and say, 'hey, I can take a beating when I was awkward and weird so I can do anything now', but that's all just bullyang."

The football team nod their heads together saying, "Fine," "Yeah yeah yeah," "Right."

Troy lets out a grin. "Hey, I'm not totally against whaling on a person who deserves it."

I walk up to them as they seem to be role playing something. Sedgewick rolls his dice then throws a small black rock at Rodney, I think his name is, direction. Rodney protests that he didn't get hit because he is shielded by his barbarian armor.

"Hark. An outsider has entered our kingdom," says the short one with dark hair and freckles, turning to me.

"Imgurhu..hur...gruuh," goes one of them, behind an ogre mask. I've only ever heard him talk gibberish anyway, the mask just muffles it.

"You're right, L-Rac. Who dare enters my Rumanian castle without a party?" Sedgewick asks.

L-Rac? Oh, his name must be Carl.

"We come in peace," I say, doing the Star Trek, Vulcan salute. "Uh, you lot wont mind if we—"

"We just need a few more yards to make an end zone!" hollers Troy from the other side to them.

"Sorry, but we have to decline, fellas," says Rodney, now getting back to his position. "We are engaging in battle to determine who will be the new swordmaster."

"Well, well, well," I hear. "If it isn't Vince LaSalle," says Chucko Kowalski coming into view.

Chucko is still almost a foot taller than me. It looks like he, Jocko, Cheay, Koreo and Buster still hang around together. Where is Lawson at? I wonder if they went their separate ways or something. As much as the gang and I hated Lawson, we did have this understanding.

Cheay adjusts his dark black shades. "Aye, you losers get off our patch," he says at my teammates. "And the freaks too," then to the pale kids.

Sedgewick raises his arms out. "This park is free to all."

Chucko lets out a laugh. "I don't think the president had geekoids in mind when he made up that amendment."

"You'd be a mere lackey to us in our parts, you wouldn't last a minute in Daggers and Dragons," goes Sedgewick, wielding his plastic sword, getting closer up to Chucko's face.

Chucko covers his face for a second. "Okay, okay. Lemme do some easy maths for you lot. My fists, plus your face, what does that equal?"

I step into Chucko and Sedgewick's one on one confrontation. "Leave them alone, Chucko," I interject, taking off my watch, and loosening up my wrist ready for a fight.

"I got this, Ecniv," goes Sedgewick, stopping me in my tracks, using his sword like a barrier. "I resurrect my ceremonial slug from my cloak of wonder, and curse you to perform peristaltic pyrotechnics next time you attempt to court a lass," he says to Chucko.

"Ahahaaahaaha," go the other pale kids with snorts of laughter.

"Wha—?" goes Chucko.

"Dumbbigkahunasayswhat?" says the short pale kid, still in mid laughter.

Chucko must have caught on to what he's doing. He gets that pale kid in a headlock and makes him use his own hands to hit himself. "Stop hitting yourself," Chucko taunts.

What seems like a minute, is us all mesmerized at how well Chucko makes the freckly kid legit beat himself up. Holding him in a headlock and using his own strength and stupidity against himself. All my teammates come closer to see. The pale kid's face gets redder. His eyes closing up. His own knuckles smashing his glasses against his own face. Self made bullying. Chucko beats him up but never lays a single blow on him. I'm lying if I say it's not impressive.

"Jeez-Louise, why'dyou do that?" says the short pale kid, holding his endlessly bloody runny nose, as Chucko lets him go. "I haven't got nearly enough health packs and magic herbs to heal myself."

"Shut up, Steve," says Sedgewick, the first person to snap out of what we're seeing. "We've finished larping ages ago."

"Gimme that," Chucko says, taking Rodney's plastic battle mace and slinging it over his shoulder. "Vince," he says, pointing at me with the mace. "Your team against my team. Thaddeus high versus 98th Street high. Winner takes all."

I take one look at the not-so-pale-kids and I look back at my team mates.

"Fine, ain't nothing to it but to do it," I say.

"But loser can't use the park for the rest of the year, capiche?" bargains Chucko.

"Fine, if you lose, this is my friends and my teammates turf," I reply, with a nod to Sedgewick.

Troy folds his arms. "Okay guys, lets fall out."

Chucko lets out violent snigger. "Who are you supposed to be? I didn't know Thad lets you rag head camel jockeys into your school?"

Troy's classic smile disappears. "What the hell you call me?" Troy asks, as he gets closer.

"You heard me. The only way you little bitches are winning is if you blew us all up," Chucko adds, turning to his friends who are laughing together.

Troy clenches his fists and charges on Chucko, holding his shirt. "No, I'll do what your people do, check on your oil by putting my foot up your ass."

I got shivers. Troy sounded just like the old Spinelli just then.

Koreo peels Troy off Chucko. Herk, in turn, pushes Koreo off of Troy. I rush in and push who I can away from each other. I'm caught up in the middle of this.

"Let's—let's, ugh, let's sort this out on the field," I urge, my hands separating the two groups.

Chucko pokes his finger out, imitating a gun at Troy. With Troy looking the most pissed I've ever seen him before. Sure, Troy came out with a stupid line like he always does, but his face is stone cold serious this time.

The pale kids walk away to the sidelines. As my teammates go on one side, whilst Chucko and his guys go the opposite direction.

We huddle together and get our game plan together. Our full-fledged attack. Troy mutters our first play as we hit against Chucko's guys head to head. Pushing back against Chucko's team. I dart in-between Cheay and Koreo as Troy does a disguised pass to me. I run ahead of it, by the time I'm slowing down, the balls slipped through my fingers. It's our first down.

The game is getting further and further away from us. More of my teammates don't want to even look at me.

After twenty minutes we're in our final play, with the first team to score thirty points wins. We're losing 13-24.

Wylie tries to get his breath back with his hands on his knees, staring at the grass. "Here's a bright idea. Let's not pass to Vince."

Troy darts his eyes around at the field. "Come on, it's not Vince's fault."

"We're down by ten," moans Wylie. "How is it not his fault?"

"No, Mr Bright side," says Herk, wiping grass stains off his polo shirt. "We're down by eleven."

"Guys, I'm sorry—" I try to say.

"Look," says Troy, cutting me off, his arm round me, walking me to the side. "I'm gonna pass to you—"

"But the guy's said—?"

"Forget them. I'm gonna tell the team I'm hitting up Wylie for the pick, and there's no way anyone's going to mark you now, the way you've been playing. Don't worry." Troy indicates a nod towards Cheay whose looking around casually at the end zone. "The guy over there with the sunglasses looks like he's legally blind, you can take him."

We set off in different directions. I sprint forward and measure my run, dodging pass the oncoming interceptions. Troy makes it look like he's going to find Wylie but instead he lobs the ball towards me and I catch it this time. That janitor's advice worked. Damn. I'm hit on my blind side by Chucko. Koreo steals the ball off me and passes to Buster whose free to make a touchdown on our end zone. We lose. Chucko and his team mates go over the top with their celebrating, saying that the park is now their rightful turf. We'll see who has the final say when we face them for real in a high school championship game.

Wylie, Herk and the other guy's just leave me. I stay laying on the grass.

"Herk and the others, they don't like me do they?" I ask Troy, looking up at him.

"What? You mean honestly or hypothetically?" Troy asks, as he helps me back up to my feet.

"Aww man, this whomps," I moan.

"Whomps? What does that mean?" Troy asks.

"Just a word my friend made up to, you know, not get in trouble with swearing."

"Nice, it sounds like it could actually make the dictionary. Still, it's not as fun as just swearing. Like, dick sneeze. Mexican sticky balls. Titty sprinkles. Ass-licker dick face. Tony Danza," Troy counts, looking up at the sky, with his finger pointed at his head in thought. "Man, actually, whomp sounds like something Billy Blaisedell would make up. That said, lets watch Porta Potty Time Machine, it's Thursday today after all."

"Yeah."

* * *

 **"If not caring if you're cool or not, makes you cool, then how do you know you're even cool in the first place?"** I ask.

"It's like one of those whatchamacallits, if no one notices your wearing new Jamaal sneakers, then did you even buy them in the first place?" goes Troy, in a deep foreboding way, taking his football out of his locker. His textbooks are still fresh in their wrappers.

"No man, that's not what I mean at all," I say.

"If this is about the squad not liking you—" starts Troy.

"So they don't like me?" I ask.

"What was that?" shouts Troy to the cheerleaders at the end of the hall. All the girls look our direction in confusion. "Sorry Cool cat, see ya on the flip."

Troy leaves me hanging and puts his arm over the cheerleaders. It's too far away to hear them, but I can make out that they're calling him a weirdo and saying he must be talking to himself.

I hit my head repeatedly on a random locker.

My best friend's an idiot.

I fail at football.

Life sucks.

Owning every back board and throw yard from here to Timbuktu is all I used to do to get everyone to think I'm cool. That's all I know. I'm just some regular kid otherwise.

"Whatever the locker did to you, it's not worth it."

I look to the side and I see it's the school's janitor who said that.

"Crap, don't tell anyone I did this, man," I say.

"As long as you and the locker don't kiss and make up," the janitor says. "V," he begins, pointing at the initial on my jacket. "I could tell you that being true to yourself and not caring about what anyone else thinks of you is being cool, but it really isn't. You have to be the one making trends. You wanna make everyone love you, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Who do you hate more than anyone else in school, that if you got back at them, everyone would feel like it's justice being served?" the janitor asks, folding his arms with a beaming smile and with kinda dark swollen eyes.

"Everyone hates Mr Foley," I shrug, my head still placed on the locker's door.

"Here's his keys," he says, chucking me some keys into my hand. "Cool guys drive, right? Oh, this is random me saying this but, uh, the outdoor swimming pools are free. I just put chlorine in them. Yup. So, don't beat yourself up, cause if you stay uncool for too long the jocks'll do it for you. Just Kidding. Float on, kid."

The janitor leaves and makes his way down the hallway. I shout back at him and ask what I'm supposed to do with these keys. He walks past the students and just seems to disappear.

I feel the keys in my hand. I'm not about to do this. I'll just return these keys to lost and found.

* * *

My chemistry teacher yammers for us to do our practical. I do mine wrong.

In mathematics the letters and numbers mess my head up. Algebra is a joke. Who ever thought of the bright idea of bringing numbers and letters together just wanted me to suffer.

It's lunch. I'm sitting at the table with my teammates and a few cheerleaders. The guys are talking about our game plan for the first game of the season. The girls talk about their dance rehearsals. I don't bother add to the conversation. I'm lost completely. I've gone elsewhere.

"You all right, Vince?" asks Ashley, before taking a sip of her soda from her lunch tray.

I flick the keys around in my hand. Maybe everyone would get me if I did something bad to someone we all hate. They'll understand I wanna be one of them. Not just another jock who wants to be popular and exclude all the friends I came up with.

I smile and nod at Ashley.

"That's good, I was thinking we should be like a real couple and do some double dating," Ashley continues.

I look over at the old gang. They're all laughing together. There's soda squirting out of Gus' nose. Gretchen is wiping the nose gunk off the table. TJ and Spinelli are bringing up more stories or something. There's a space left next to Mikey like I should be there.

That's it.

Getting up from the table, I push my lunch tray to the middle, taking my feet away from the bench.

"Hey," says Ashley. "Where are you going?"

I'm making my way down the hall. No way. Mr Foley's right there. It must be a sign. I take his keys out of my pocket and get ready to return it.

"Sir, I've got give you something of yours," I say.

"Give me a second there, Jockstrap," says Foley. He turns his attention back to Miss Rosemary. "There's no _Mr_ Rosemary and you haven't given me a legitimate reason why we can't have a close knit relationship in the faculty."

"Mr Foley," Miss Rosemary gasps. "Could you be more discrete with your advances in front of the students?"

"What you mean? Vince could learn or thing or two," Mr Foley says.

Miss Rosemary grins her rosy cheeks. "If you knew your students at all, you'd know Vince already has a girlfriend, and I'm quite taken back by your animal lover comment, and not in a good way."

"Sir!" I cry. I'm almost waving his keys in his face by now.

Mr Foley waves the keys away, still locked on to Miss Rosemary. "How am I supposed to know what to feed a vegetarian on a date? All right, you are still adamant about that hippie hoo-ha movement, but if you change your mind, you can still find me from my teaching schedule."

Mr Foley, whose obviously been ignoring me, leaves back up the hallway. I let out a huff and I kind of don't care anymore.

"I'm all for anti-violence, Vince," sighs Miss Rosemary to me. "But even Ghandi was a class-obsessed, closet racist, and a kinky pervert."

"What?" I ask.

Miss Rosemary goes back in her classroom. People start leaving lunch for study hall. Troy looks back at me from the other side. I smile back. Walking backwards, I go outside of the school.

I'm playing eenie meenie miney mo with the teacher's cars in the parking lot. I find the Driver's ed car and put the key in the groove. It's not fitting. What the hell? Was the janitor just lying or what? I shake my head and look at the best car in the school. A sports car, with fast indented features and a wing sprouting from the back of it. I try the key. It fits perfectly. The suicide doors lift up before me.

"Oh my god, it's a two seater," I say to myself.

"Hey everybody!" goes Troy, as people start coming out of the school to look.

I go in the car and the new car smell hits me like a wave.

I rev up the engine. Looking around, I can see heads start to pop out of the windows of the school. The car roars like an animal and all my fears seem to just disappear. This is for Gus. This is for everyone.

I push and release the clutch on first gear, I'm moving out. Zooming out. Kids start cheering. I'm being broadcasted by kids flipping their phones out. I'm using Foley's own tips he gave me to joy ride his own car. I crash through his course, smashing through the fake deers on purpose.

"Yeah, Vince!" is what I hear from the windows

"Vince! Vince! Vince!" is being yelled out from almost everyone.

Is that Miss Rosemary and some other teachers joining in?

I spin the car around and make donut tyre marks on the ground. The car is going in circle. I'm dizzy in happiness. Being good and well mannered is overrated. A waste of time. For the finale I'm gonna make a quick stop in front of the swimming pool. Dupe everyone into think I'm gonna crash it. I go full pelt at it. Now I'll hold on to the brake.

Damn, it's fast. Really fast.

I hold on the brake but the car speeds into the pool. The water splashes across the windscreen and across the sides. The car airbags pop out from the steering wheel.

People crowding around the swimming pool are clapping.

Okay.

I think I'm in trouble now.

Not only am I in hot water in metaphors, but I'm in lukewarm chlorine water, for reals.

* * *

 **My luck has to change.** It will change. I am the master of my own domain. What am I saying? My game is going south. My bedroom is in a state of emergency and I still can't find my lucky nickel anywhere.

I sit on the edge of the room away from my toppled over mattress and all my turned out draws. The school bus is gonna be here any minute. I'll look through the most obvious place one more time just to get a peace of mind before I'm outtie. I pick up my old shorts I used to wear at Third street and look through the pockets. Nothing. Wait. There's some hole through the seam, how could I have missed this? I feel my hand through the gap and pull him out. My savior.

"I love you I love you I love you."

I kiss my nickel and put him in the quarter length pants pocket that I'm wearing. It took me all morning but I found you. Leaving my bedroom crash site, I slide down the rail of the stairs with this all new wave of confidence. On the rug by the front door there's a brown letter that's mailed to Mr & Mrs LaSalle. I pick it up, twirling it around on the other side, it has the address from school.

"You missed your breakfast," says Mom, coming from the living room, putting her earrings on.

"Huh?" I say, putting the letter in my jacket pocket.

"I thought you would have at least a bowl of cereal, and not that ridiculous ginseng and egg white diet you have yourself on," she says, tying on her long bow tie, already in her pants suit.

"I gotta go to school."

Mom comes closer to me. She knows what I'm up to. I know it.

"Good luck today," she says to me, but ruining the moment by licking her thumb and rubbing the dust off my face, that I got from searching under my bed.

"Thanks."

I slip through the front door and go outside to the bus stop. The yellow bus has just gone passed my house and its heading to school without me. That damn cheese wagon. So much for having good luck. I guess I'll have to—wait a minute. The school bus, that's yards away from me, is turning around in the middle of the road. It's making a wild U-turn in this narrow street, but it's way too long to do this maneuver. It won't fit.

The bus' front smashes through three or four letter boxes. It scares off a stray cat. It completely takes out the neighbors' garden hedges and barges through a fire hydrant. It screeches right back around, leaving black tyre marks on the road. Water rushes upwards from where the fire hydrant once was. The street looking like a earthquake aftershock crashed the block.

The bus comes towards me and stops as it's doors swing open. I step on to the bus to an applause as all the kids sitting down start to cheer at my presence.

"Honestly and I'm being honest here," says the bus driver to me, getting up, swinging his arm around me. "I can't stomach that Foley, so what you did was a darn public service, son. Take a seat right there and brace yourself for it."

"For your driving?" I ask, looking at all the happy, bright eyes on me.

"No. Popularity, comrade," he says. "Popularity."

I'm at school. More clapping. I haven't even done anything. This Asian girl from the tech kids comes up to me, holding my helmet.

"What are you doing with my helmet?" I ask her.

"Hey," she says, smirking. "Who spoiled the surprise?" she goes, looking serious at her friends.

"Surprise?" I ask.

"Oh, good," she goes, handing me my helmet back. "If you look, Vince. We have added improvements to your helmet. It's now specialized with a thermistor, radio transmitter and a built in hologram that helps visually see your plays before scrimmages."

She presses a button on the side of my helmet and it shines out a life size ghostly image of players in a huddle.

"Move," goes a guy with long dreadlocks from the Wall street kids, pushing the tech kid out of the way. "Here's some free stocks, Vince. Thanks for wildin' out at Mr Foley's expense. Us Wall Street kids appreciate it."

"May I greet him now?" asks Deshay, from the hipsters. "We made some patches for you."

All the hipsters bombard me with slaps. Before I know it, my whole jacket is now covered in cartoons, funny quotes and little pieces of cool art.

"Erm, I don't know what to say. Thanks guys," I say, walking away from them to my locker. Holding my new helmet, I walk away with my decked out jacket with the pockets stuffed with stock paper. I unlock my padlock.

I open up my locker. The emos are beside me giving me that cold stare like always.

"Look," I say to them. "I'm going, okay?"

"No Vince," says the leader of the emos. "We have something to give you."

He hands me a little doll. It's a little sack puppet, with a little NASCAR jacket, a little toupee with pins stabbed right into it's back.

"It's our voodoo doll of Mr Foley, we thought you should have it," says the emo kid.

"Thanks?" I say, throwing it in my locker.

They don't smile back at me. But I don't think they need to.

* * *

I rub Menlo on his horns with my team mates, and charge out through the changing rooms to the field. The cheerleaders are fluttering their pom poms. The field's like an immaculate green carpet. The student pep rally is buzzing as the first game of the season against Washington Wolves begins.

Coach has us in in full attacking. The ball is thrown. The tackles come crushing in. The game rushes passed in blurs. My rocked out new helmet makes all our scrimmages take out the opponent in an epic way. Every movement we do gets recorded and we're able to prevent ourselves from making any type of mistake. Coach has hardly raised his voice even once.

"We've got this in the bag," says Troy, getting us together before the last play. "If only this was Chucko's school."

"That time will come soon enough," I reply.

We get into our last play. Troy throws the ball to me as we brake off. I grip the ball close to me for the umpteenth time. If I get this touchdown then it confirms it. I dodge around the tackles. They can't stop me. I vault over all of them. I feint through oncoming opponents. The last patch of grass comes up and I reach it with no one closing behind me. We win.

The final buzzer bangs throughout field.

Our cheerleaders go wild doing cartwheels and splits. The school pep rally gets live again. All my teammates hug each other, doing somersaults themselves.

I look around.

Spinelli and TJ are sitting in the bleachers. I gotta go see them. I walk up towards them, avoiding people trying to congratulate me.

"Whoa, um, what a surprise. I had no idea you two would come," I say, putting my helmet down on the white bench.

"Yessiree, we specialize in surprising," says TJ, with a salute.

We both stare at each other for a second, then I look back to see where Ashley is with the other cheerleaders.

"It's just like the other day," starts TJ. "I somehow convinced Gretchen out of her AP chemistry class, to give me some sodium-thio-thingaroo—"

"Truth serum," adds Spinelli.

"Yeah yeah, and put it in Professor Harrison's coffee and he blabbed on and on about all the answers in the whole years syllabus," continues TJ.

"The class just pretends to work every lesson, and has their homework's ready three weeks in advance at a time," finishes Spinelli.

I feel my mouth hang. "Why didn't you fill me in on that? That's not like Gretchen at all," I say.

"I tried to, but, you were busy with your own friends and junk," says TJ, with his smile fading.

"So?" Spinelli starts. "Mr big stuff. Aren't you gonna celebrate with the other pubescent roid monkeys?"

I look back and Herk is over-celebrating with massive hugs to Menlo, taking him off the ground, scaring off all the cheerleaders. The pep rally is once again in full swing.

"Nah," I sigh. "You lot wanna get out of here and just—"

"Catch up on two and a half years?" Spinelli asks.

I make my way to the changing room. I get changed and tell my team mates that I'm not turning up to Floppy Burger to celebrate our first win.

"What are you talking about?" goes Troy, fitting his shirt back on, his hair in a mess.

Wylie sprays deodorant wildly, missing his armpits. "We can't celebrate without the MVP."

"Sorry guys," I say, swinging my jacket on, making my way out before they can say anymore to stop me.

I meet Spinelli and Teej again, who are debating about something or other.

"That's the whole point, Spin," goes TJ, resting his back to the wall with his head up to the ceiling. This must of forced him to rotate his cap forwards.

Spinelli lets out a groan. "It's weak. Every episode they show the killer in the beginning of Bookham and McVice, and every episode it's a boring countdown for the forensics to find out what we already know," Spinelli says. She turns to me. "Hey, your back. You still coming?"

"Deffo," I reply.

TJ and Spinelli look at each other and laugh.

"Deffo? You've _deffo_ been hanging around the Ashley's a lot haven't you?" says Spinelli. "Don't worry, we forgive ya."

"Welcome to the loser crowd, pal. Where we go window shopping, eat junk food and hustle through an extra game or two in QuarterChasers," Teej says, rotating his cap backwards and dangling a coin attached by a string from his green hoody. "Don't judge me. I'll pay em back, I'll pay em all back when I become rich someday. You'll see."

Us three go to Quarter Chasers, passing by most of the shops on the way. The arcade looks amazing. There's a warm smell of popcorn and the velcro feel of shoe suction off the sticky floor. An assortment of games, strobing lights, pistols being fired, ruffles of change and the start up of machines are ringing around the whole place. TJ tells me that Mikey, Gus and Gretchen can get busy sometimes after school, but they always come together at break times or at lunch. Mikey is in something called poetry circle, that's pretty self explanatory. Gretchen is doing after school classes in AP science, sounds right. Gus is working part time at Kelso's. Spinelli says Gus' dad wants to sear into his brain the importance of hard work. Not to mention his dad doesn't believe in allowances.

I kinda feel guilty for not knowing what was going on with everyone earlier.

The hours fly by and we decide to hang back at my house.

We're in my bedroom. Oh yeah, my room is still turned upside down with almost everything out of place.

"Did you crash Mr Foley's car in here first?" asks Spinelli, looking at the mess.

"Sorry guys," I say.

"I'm used to a mess like this," says TJ, putting my mattress back on it's flat side. "It's all right."

I pick up my clothes and throw it back in their draws. TJ and Spinelli help flatten down my duvet and pillows that made it's way on the floor. My room now looks half decent. I throw my sports jacket on my bed. I rip out the centre of the magazine I bought, pinning my spread-out poster of Jamaal Van Johnson, the Pagans hall of fame edition, on to my wall.

TJ has gone and says he'll be right back.

"Beverly Hills, Vince? Really?" asks Spinelli, putting her beanie hat down. She is straightening her hair in front of the mirror with her comb that seemed to magically appear out of nowhere.

"Rome? Really?" I ask her back. "Call me crazy, but is the great Spinelli checking herself out in my mirror?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist," says Spinelli, moving her gaze away from herself. "My hat makes my hair retardedly frizzy."

Spinelli goes towards my bed table and holds up my lava lamp. Her eyes indicate towards the power socket. I say sure. She plugs in her phone and she makes herself at home on my bed.

"So, how've you been?" I ask her.

"You know. Same old, I'm whatever. I'm serious this time. Why Beverly Hills?" she asks. Again.

"It had the best football scholarship success rate at the time to make it to the NFL," I explain. Spinelli nods at me, her phone vibrating on my desk. "You gonna check that?"

Spinelli ignores it.

"Just don't forget us when you make it. I'm gonna want front row seats to In-Vince," she says. "So, how are you, Vince? You know, besides committing grand theft auto and simultaneously taking dips in the deep end?" she adds, returning back to her phone.

"That kinda happened all of a sudden, you know, before I realized it, I'm behind the wheels of Foley's car and it's filling up with water," I reply.

Spinelli puts her hand under her chin like she's waiting for me to go on.

"Oh, and I'm just peachy," I add.

Spinelli beams from ear to ear for the first time this afternoon.

TJ comes back with his Ultra-box 180, and spreads his games out on the floor. That Señor Fusion game he was playing in the summer is missing. TJ and I set up and play for what seems like a few minutes, but the night outside says otherwise.

"We just came from the arcade, where they breed video games. You two squares are gonna get square eyes," I hear Spinelli complain, her fingers typing away.

"You can talk," I say, turning back to see her lying on my bed, her eyes glued to her phone.

"I'm a girl. It's practically how we deal with everything."

"Okay. Don't hate me, man, but how is it like being so popular?" asks TJ, drifting his car in nitro passed the finish line. "Like, do you get free food in the cafeteria? Do you automatically have girls want you all the time—?"

"Ahem," Spinelli coughs.

"You're not in the Illuminati, are you?" adds TJ.

"Don't be silly Teej, no one at school treats me any differently for being popular," I say, as reassuringly as I can.

* * *

 **"Do you believe in second chances?"** Principles Third asks.

"Yeah, sure," I reply, adjusting my body a bit on my chair.

"I want him expelled!" yells Mr Foley, pointing his finger at me, his toupée out of place. "Did you see what he did to my car?"

"I am aware, yes," sighs Principle Third moving behind his office desk. "He knows he did wrong. There's no harm done."

"No harm done? My car is ruined, it is, it was, my pride and joy, my love. Now it's reduced to nothing more but a useless clunker. The chlorine ate through my car until its nothing but rust. It might as well have been driven into a pool infested with piranhas," Mr Foley rants.

"Look," says Principle Third, walking over to Mr Foley, swinging an arm round his shoulder. "Take a break in the teacher's lounge, I'll take care of Mr LaSalle."

Mr Foley looking warn out, is lead out the door by Third. With a shut of the door, Principle Third comes back facing me.

"Sorry about that," says Third. "I just had to exclude him from this meeting. Materialistic people like that always churn my stomach. I'll drop the charges, I just wanna know, what came over you, Vince?"

"A rush of blood, I guess," I say, shrugging. Third looks stern at me. "I just wanted to be known around the school as anything other than a lame. When the janitor gave me the keys I kinda thought—"

"Janitor?" goes Third. "I never hired a janitor, we have night cleaning staff here to clear the mess you kids leave, making this institution looking unblemished."

"But, Sir—"

"No buts," replies Third. "Blaming other people is not going to take all your problems away."

If the school doesn't have a janitor, then what's up with the guy who put this whole idea in my head?

"Sir, but—"

"I did consider expelling you," says Third. He retrieves a photo on his desk, and pushes it to my eye level. It's a picture of him with this young girl. She looks a bit older than me, black shiny curled bangs above her green eyes and an orange sash along her chest. "This is my niece, Ingrid Third. I know, we don't look a like. But she always told me to give trouble makers a second chance when she worked for her school's Safety Patrol at X middle school. A chance to be on the right side of the law. You're in the scholarship program. I don't want you to have a permanent record to your name. I know how the system works, it's unfair to young people like yourself. It's corrupt. Starting today, you're going to spend detention every afternoon until the end of the school year, have I made myself clear?"

"Yes Sir, thanks," I say with a nod.

Principle Third lets me out.

"And Vince?" Third says, stopping me just outside the door. "Don't think I haven't noticed you not bringing your parents. I will not be so lenient next time. In fact, the only time I wanna hear the words car and pool together is when a teacher is using it as an example for the speed distance of two people commuting together."

Principle Third closes his office door on me. I stand beside the door, and look up at the ceiling for a second. That was close. It all could have been turned to crap. I look to my right and really get a look at how awesome this school is. Shiny hallways. The school warthog symbol printed on the ground. All my friends, the first friends I ever had, all come here. It actually gets me looking forward to coming to school everyday. I would have lost all of that.

I look to my left. It's Spinelli leaning on the other side of the principle's office door, just silently flicking through her phone. Probably waiting for me to notice her.

"Hey Spin," I sigh.

"Hey Vin," Spinelli replies, coming up to me. "Did The Man, let you off?"

"Detention every day until the end of the school year," I reply, as Spinelli looks back pleasantly surprised. "Look, Spinelli, um, I talked to coach and the spot for the team was between you and me, and I sorta took it from you. I was gonna tell you, but I was embarrassed cause I already have a scholarship even though being in the football team isn't guaranteed—"

"Is that it?" Spinelli laughs, cutting me off mid sentence, as we walk up to her locker. "Don't worry about it. I just wanted to prove that I can be good as you lot. I'm just glad nowadays you're actually talking to me and not your wifey."

"Hey," I breath out.

"You've got no time for us because your in lurve," Spinelli teases, rotating her padlock.

"Okay, that's enough," I reply.

"We're going to the arcade, please come with us?" asks Spinelli, quickly switching off that annoying lovey dovey voice.

"I can't. I've got detention all year starting now, remember?" I say. "Maybe next time, yeah?"

"Yeah, next time," she says, unpacking her locker.

Ashley approaches us.

"Hey you," says Ashley to me, as she pecks me on the cheek. "Spinelli," she grunts under her breath, greeting Spin.

Spinelli grunts back and closes her locker as she heads on out the school. Mikey, Gus, Gretchen and TJ are waiting for her at the end of the hall.

"So I've been like, a complete suck-up, running back and forth, doing favors to the right and wrong people. Hey, Vince are you listening?" Ashley goes, speaking in a whirlwind speed, waving her hand in my face.

"Uh, yeah," I reply, looking away from Spinelli and the old gang, and back at her.

"Okay so, Ashley T said, that Maddie said, that scary freak Drake will totally let me have his locker now, so you know what that means."

"No, what?"

"We get to move in together. I've already got Mr Hackwell to knock down the steel wall between Drake's locker and your one as we squeak. We get to spend more time together, plus you don't have to have those emos around your locker all the time anymore. It's a win win."

"Awesome," I lie. "I'm paying the price for joyriding right now, so I'll see you—I guess at my locker tomorrow."

Ashley hugs me. Her perfume is actually comforting. I like Ashley a trillion times more when she's not talking a hundred miles an hour, or at all.

I go to detention. This is new. It's a completely white classroom. White walls. White desks. With 'Think about what you've done' written in black on the front of the wall.

I sit alone.

A teacher strides through the door. It's Mr Dude.

"Mr LaSalle," says Mr Dude. "Whoa, it's pretty odd actually seeing you completely alone. You're quite the talk of the school."

"You know me," I chuckle.

"As you can see, this classroom was completely inspired by Principle Falsom's design from X middle school," say Mr Dude, sitting behind his desk. "Kind of creepy if you ask me."

"X middle school?" I ask. "That's the same school Principle Third's niece went to, I think. A safety patrol officer?"

"Ding-ding-ding," says Mr Dude, right away. "The sad story is that the safety patrol are no more. Principle Falsom made the safety Patrol Headquarters renovated into a Faculty Yoga Studio. Where did the love go, aye?"

"Yeah," I reply, fixing my jacket's cuff. "That's terrible."

"Ditto. Oh, I got a surprise for you, and don't worry, it doesn't involve hijacking your helmet," says Mr Dude, taking a seat on the side of the student's desk closer to me. "Apparently, there's a loophole on the rule on detentions. Basically a day around Christmas time you won't be required to turn up. A little mix up in the school regulations, thank to yours truly."

"Oh, cool."

Detention isn't even detention, thanks to Mr Dude. I still have to leave school a bit later though.

I take a different route home, letting my hand drag across the wired fence of Third Street school. The playground looks empty but everything is where I last recall it being. The swing set, the monkey bars, and the tyre enforced clubhouse. Although, a few tether-ball poles have been taken from the ground, and are replaced with a climbing frame. The climbing frame has a rope net and balance beam. Funny, the playing apparatus is barely off the ground. There's a hop scotched game on the blacktop, fresh from being chalked out the recess before. Old Rusty is still there. Some of my best memories of kickball happened over there on the diamond field.

It looks so small now.

I'm already walking to Kelso's.

It must be an old habit.

**[PLAY SONG "Heems - Sometimes" AT THIS POINT]**


	5. Popping Molly

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 4

Gus POV

* * *

 **That's weird** , she usually comes here at 16 hundred hours.

"Gus," Vince says, entering the store. "Oh yeah, I forgot you work here."

Vince is probably the last person I thought I would see.

"Vince?" I say. "You got tall, well, you've always been taller than me, but you look different is all."

Vince is no doubt the most popular person at school right now. His hair is a lot more shaped up than it was when we were in elementary school, when he used to let his hair grow out a little bit.

"I'll have a Molarbuster, two Pork-bakey flavoured chips, three Enamelshreds, oh, and a freezing cold Martian piss soda," lists Vince.

I take out the chips hanging from the side and the soda out of the fridge as Vince helps himself to the sweets on the shelves. He's already bitten into the caramel of the Enamelshreds. He's chewing it down slowly, savoring each chew, like he hasn't eaten sugar in years.

"That'll be two dollars and forty five cents," I say.

"Oh," he goes, taking a single nickel out of his pocket. "That's all that's on me. This is awkward," says Vince gulping the chocolate bar, reaching into his pockets. He tries to patch up the ripped wrapper.

"I can call Mr Kelso and arrange you to keep a tab."

"Nah dude, forget it, just tell him I owe twenty percent of this," he says, putting the bar down on the counter. "It was good seeing you, man," says Vince, walking backwards to the door. "Talk to me on Friendsite or something, we could link up when—"

Vince is still saying something to me. It's Molly. Four on the dot. Rollerblading in the store in slow motion. Heading to the sour patch section. Her flowery hair band. Her Jamacàmon tamagotchi dangling around her neck. She takes her usual bundle of sherbert Angel dust and Pixie sticks.

"Caught up in trying to be the best," finishes Vince. He looks over at Molly. "Why you looking at her like that? Is she trying to steal 'em sweets or something?"

"Yeah. No. I mean, I would literally trade in all my army miniatures in a heartbeat just to talk to her," I say.

"Oh. Then just talk to her," goes Vince.

"What? I've got more of a chance invading North Korea single handedly with just a BB gun and one very high powered slingshot, than her ever like-liking me."

Vince laughs in my face.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," chuckles Vince. He walks up to Molly and taps her on the shoulder. "Hi, my friend Gus wants to talk to you."

"What?" she says looking at my name tag pinned on my apron. She glides up closer. She puts her virtual pet on to the recharge port on the counter, until the price comes up to fifty cents and her pet gets completely fed to the max. "Gus, you speak English? I thought you were a foreign exchange student or something?"

"I know, weird right? I be, um, yeah, I guess I don't even know what language I'm speaking sometimes. English? Spanish? Klingon—?" I spurt out.

"I speak Spanish. I mean, I can speak Spanish. I should be in the school UN repping Mexico right now actually. Yawn," she says, putting her hair away from her eyes.

"Mexico, aww man, I love Mexico. Like, er, my dad used to bring me on ride alongs to the state lines to bust some illegal Mexican aliens. Not saying that you're an alien, or that you and all your people should get deported."

Molly and Vince look at each other confused.

"Um. I gotta go you two," says Molly dropping her, no doubt perfectly counted amount of change on the counter, right next to Vince's half eaten chocolate bar. "My homework won't do it itself. Wouldn't that be really cool if it could though?" she asks.

Molly leaves.

"Wow," says Vince.

"I know," I say, covering my face underneath my glasses. "My pet Hubert makes more sense than me right now. Maybe you can give me pointers, seeing how you have a girlfriend and everything?"

"I don't understand girls either, I don't know what they want. Start by saying her hair's pretty or something. I dunno. It already looks like she dipped her whole head in paint."

* * *

 **"I thought that sex was when you touched a girl's butt,"** I say.

"Gus. I..I..I don't even no where to begin," says Mikey, moving back his shaggy hair in disbelief.

"I know now that cooties shots were all nonsense, practically a get rich quick scheme by any kid charging for a circle circle dot dot," I reply.

"Everyone's first sex ed class is brutal. I guess, I'm fortunate enough to have had the talk with my parents first hand, plus all the romanticized films I've seen, pretty much insinuate it."

"I haven't had sex ed yet. I think we get to learn that in Biology next year."

"Then where is all this coming from?" bellows Mikey.

The Talk? My dad's always caught up with his war games with his division and prepares for them as soon as he gets home, to do it all over again. My mom seems to stop Teresa whenever we would accidentally touch hands when she came over. I've never even thought that talking to my parents in the comfort of my own home could ever get embarrassing.

"Waddup Big Lumpy? Specs?" asks Spinelli greeting each of us, packing her locker.

"Wait," says Mikey to me with a quick salute to Spinelli. "This isn't about that girl in my tutor class you have a crush on is it?"

"Molly?" asks Spinelli. "That pink haired girl in my class who paints her nails with her highlighter pen? She's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box."

If I don't tell Molly how I feel I think my head's gonna explode. Spinelli's really tough but a lot of people ask her for advise. We are friends. In Third street she was practically the Guru lady advise girl for a short while.

"Hey Spinelli, you're a girl?" I ask.

"Choose your next words very carefully, Jarhead," Spinelli warns, with her teeth clenched.

"Write her a poem," says Mikey. "Transpire on to paper what you truly feel, from the depths of your soul."

"Or you can just IM her on Friendsite, and don't be such a noob about it," says Spinelli, slamming her locker shut.

* * *

It's a rare day when Vince, Gretchen, TJ, Spinelli, Mikey and I are all together at recess. Probably the first time ever in our time here, actually. Molly instantly gets cut off from the talk of the conversation. We are all comparing the most unbearable teachers. Of course, Mr Foley gets mentioned and Vince goes quiet on the subject. Only for TJ to hail him saying, "We're not worthy."

Mikey leaves us and goes off with Geoffrey Luciario to study hall once he turns up, to catch up on each others poetry.

They sure do hang around each other a lot.

I've finished writing our group report up on American war for history class, most likely writing way too much. Spinelli somehow gets away with being on her phone in the study hall, kicking back after she contributed her share. Mikey's part he handed me earlier is written really well in calligraphy. It is almost the complete opposite of a doctor's scribbly handwriting, only I still can't read it with all the curly cursive. Study hall is over, Spinelli smacks me on the back of my head and says, "See ya at lunch, Romeo."

I go to the boys toilets part of the gym, before I get ready for track. I'm trying to get passed a crowd of cheerleaders where there's a really big commotion. Half of the cheerleaders are laughing and the others are trying to pry Ashley A and Maddie apart from each other. The two girls are tugging at each other's hair.

"Get off me, I'm so not playing," says Maddie holding hard on Ashley A's hair.

The crowd is moving closer.

"Like, you're hurting me. You're such a nutcase, you bitch," cries Ashley A, fighting back.

"What—you say Miss barbie?"

"Uh, like that makes no sense. You're blonder than I am."

I try to get out the way, to no avail. I'm rushed right in a middle of a cheerleader hit and run. I can just see blurs of white and purple. My glasses have been knocked off.

"Help. I can't see without my glasses," I say.

I crawl on all fours to find them. I'm pretty sure I saw them fly through this open room. I feel and feel further inside. Hey, I've lucked out. I find my glasses and put them on quickly, I can wash the floor junk off of the lenses later. Oh wait. I'm in the changing room. I'm not entirely sure though. It's completely identical to the boys, but it smells of nothing. No sweat, no B.O, no excess of Skunk-proof deodorant body spray. At the open door there's a sound of some footsteps and laughing of a dozen girls. I dart back inside and hide myself back in a locker. Just to be safe. Every single cheerleader is coming in. I'm trapped in here. I'm in no man's land.

"Why do you go all aggro over nothing?" moans Ashley A to Maddie, vigorously straightening her hair with her hands.

"I'm real sorry babe, I don't know what came over me," says Maddie, hugging Ashley A.

Ashley B laughs and shakes her head saying, "You like, so live up to your name Maddie."

"Plus. Everyone knows, Ashley A, always has to have her way," says one of the cheerleaders in a rhyme.

Most of the girls are undressing. They're bound to catch me in this locker. If I just stay completely still, maybe they won't hear me.

"Ugh, who has my comb?" asks Ashley A.

"It must be in your locker, hun," says Ashley B to her.

I look to my left and I can see the same pink comb Ashley A always uses. This is Ashley A's locker. _Oh fudge!_

"Ashleys. Bathroom. Now," orders Ashley A, walking passed her locker to the end of the changing room with the other Ashleys.

I call for help from the only girls I think that can help me.

Gretchen's phone goes to voicemail. "Hello, you have reached the phone of the young prodigy that is Gretchen Grundler, she's not available right now. The pinnacle of science and restoration of humanity rests in her hands. Please leave a message after the ribbit."

Her Galileo has always sounded super smart. If ever get out of this, I'll download one on my iCell.

I guess I should call Spinelli for help. We are friends.

I call Spinelli. She seems pretty chilled out, but in the background I can hear some teacher is giving her an ultimatum to either take the call quickly outside or get it confiscated. I tell her I'm trapped in all places, the girls locker room. She tells me to sit tight.

Every single cheerleader in school is in here. Dressed. Half dressed. Down to their...bras. This is crazy, how did I end up here? This happened way too fast. Ashley A's locker is so neat she could pass my dad's inspection. Her pink comb is in here, a perfume with Timmy Woo on it, some pin up picture of Cody Hunter the Third. Is he related to Principle Third? Who knows.

A flow of relief flows through me as I see through the locker gap, a short figure under an orange woolly hat swing though the changing room door. Her hat floats around in between some lockers as the girls are paying her no attention. Spinelli is right in front of me now. I have an urge to shout that I'm over here, but I'll lock eyes on her until she notices and knock three times from inside the locker I'm in.

"Griswald," she mouths to me, with a shake of her head. "Hey girls. FYI, like Gretchen said that Molly said that Dog's Pajamas are totally looking for new groupies in the gym hall."

"No way, why should I believe you?" asks a cheerleader.

"Okay, you gonna just let all the nerdy girls in school get in on all the free concerts?" says Spinelli. "Suit yourself."

All the cheerleaders start murmuring. In a flash, a scream of girls rush out of the room, pushing each other out of the way. Some pom poms just left abandoned on the floor.

Spinelli opens the locker.

"You perv! You shouldn't be resorting to spying on girls like this," says Spinelli, dragging me out the locker by my polo's collar.

"It isn't my fault, you hung up before I could explain and I only get to text 140 characters to say what really happened—" I pant.

"I'm just kidding, you maroon," Spinelli smiles.

"Like, who are you talking to?" asks Ashley A, behind us.

Spinelli picks me off my feet and throws me straight back in the locker. That hurt. So much for being taller than her. Spinelli is so much stronger than her small size gives her credit for.

The three Ashley's have come back.

"No one. You should hurry up, they're giving free, uh, make up advice in the gym," says Spinelli.

Ashley B and T leave to go, seeing as every other cheerleader has departed.

"You coming, Ashley A?" asks Ashley B.

"I can use the free hair straightener all day in the bathroom and I still look like a troll doll," says Ashley A, feeling her hair with her hands. "Spinelli, let me get in my locker."

"No, I'm all right," Spinelli replies, crossing her arms. "I feel like loitering, and right here is where I wanna be."

"Ugh, you're so weird, Spin-ugly," Ashley A replies.

The Ashley's leave together. The coast is clear and Spinelli leads me out the changing room, without anyone seeing us.

"Thanks Spin, you're a life saver," I say.

"Don't mention it," Spinelli replies. "Like, I'm serious, don't mention this to anybody."

I have an all new respect for Spinelli. At lunch, Spinelli treats me like she always does, abrasively with whatever is on top of her mind. It makes me almost forget my whole post-traumatic ordeal of almost being branded a peeping Tom for life, but at the same time I am stoked to have lived the all American boys dream.

* * *

School's up. I part away from my friends and walk to Kelso's.

Mr Kelso greets me with his usual smile, but it instantly turns into a frown. He's been frantically packing away these blue and yellow sweets in a cardboard box labelled 'not tested' before I got inside.

"Gus. I'm going to need you to package these away before you do anything," Kelso orders, in double speed. "No one. That means not even me or you, can not, I repeat, can not sell any of these Japanese sweets that were imported to me last summer."

"Why not, Mr Kelso?" I ask.

"I'm sorry son, I am not in liberty to tell you why. Between you and me, telling a young impressionable youngster like yourself, may give you the wrong ideas."

I do my job without even putting my apron or name tag on. The first to sixth graders come to buy their usual amount of sweets. On my all grey G-shock military watch, its fifteen minutes past four o'clock, and there's no sign of Molly. I've been seeing her come here after school every day since the second week of school. Aw man, I bet she hates me. After what I said I bet she never wants to come to this store ever again, especially while I'm here.

I go home after three hours, as my shifts over. Mom greets me, I nod back and go straight to my room. I chuck my rucksack to the corner. I'm supposed to feed Hubert tomorrow but I don't care. I dangle a dead mouse above his case, knocking his glass cage to try and wake him up.

"What did I say about closing doors in my house?" I hear Dad bark from just outside my room.

"That closed doors are only privileged to soldiers who earn full respect from their officer," I reply, opening the door to him.

"Anyhow, surprise inspection, private," Dad announces.

Dad walks around, stretching on white gloves on his hands. He checks the dust on my desk and on my window sill. It's clear for the most part. It's so obvious my bed is badly askew. It's basically the big un-camouflaged tank in the room. He pointlessly puts a measuring ruler on it, looking at the level of the bubble.

"What do you call this? I can not have any Griswald's of mine being unprepared," he says.

I call it a typical teenagers bed. I call it not giving a fudge. I call it, trying to to get the prettiest girl in the world to give you the time of day and you mess it all up.

"I'm sorry, I've got a lot on my mind lately," I say.

"Your grades aren't falling are they?" he asks, ripping off his gloves.

"No. How did, um, mom and you, er, you and mom get together?"

"I see. This is about someone of the fairer kind."

I don't say anything. This is probably the most nervous I've ever seen my dad. He's never scared.

"Madge!" Dad shouts out my door. "Gus need to know about the birds and the bees!"

What have I done? Miss Grotke just said the birds and the bees is a metaphor grown ups use that will be taught to us when we're in middle school.

Mom comes to my bedroom door in double time, untying her apron and Dad's telling me to take a seat.

"Gus, we've neglected to tell you about what goes on between, um," Dad starts, looking back at Mom.

"Between a man and a woman until we thought you're ready, honey. But, I guess it is out of our control when you've reached a certain age and you become, er, curious," Mom adds.

My mind's now ready, seat belted, in a full and upright position.

"When a soldier is tagged teamed together with his companion and they are ready to make an alliance," says Dad.

"And the girl has decided to let the boy see more than what is considered decent, because they're in love," Mom adds.

"You make sure you're always protected, even in an assault course, or in this case intercourse."

"Then you make love, with her consent, as you."

"You, sort of, put your manly parts against her female, you know, her, lower subdivision," Dad says straightening his hand above his waist.

"I'm lost," I say.

"You put your penis into her vagina, okay?" Mom blurts out.

"What?"

"So honey, wash your hands and get ready to eat," Mom says, as Dad leaves too.

What the hell just happened?

I just wanted to know how to talk to Molly.

I should have just waited for biology.

Next year.

* * *

 **"You have to do the bad thing sometimes** , treat it like an unwritten obligation. No girl will give a wimp the time of day," says the janitor, chucking his mop bucket away after he's hardly used it to mop up the hallway.

"This is not making me feel any better," I say, watching Molly giggle with Mr Dude and TJ in the hallway. TJ sees me in the corner of his eye, and ushers me over with a wave.

"I'm not trying to," the janitor says.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not about to break into her locker," I say, getting ready to head to TJ.

The janitor twirls around Molly's padlock in his fingers. He blocks my view as he covers his body around it, looking around to see if anyone notices. He then gives a quick glance at me as if he's making a credit card transaction.

"Whoa Mr janitor guy, Molly is right over there," I warn.

This guy's crazy, funny, but crazy.

"You better come closer to me then," suggests the janitor. "Welcome class of one, on how to crack a master lock in under sixty seconds." He spins the numbers around. "This is the combination dial, and this round part on top is the shackle, you got all that?"

"Yes, but, I don't think we should be—"

"Good," the janitor continues, ignoring me. "The key to opening this and getting anything you want in life, is all to do with a little thing called manipulation. You apply a little pressure on the shackle, not too much, and definitely not too little so you can't turn the dial. As you turn it you're gonna feel a little resistance. Girls are not gonna give you their numbers right away, are they?"

"No, I guess not."

"Good," he goes on. "Now, when your turning you are gonna slowly leave pressure from the shackle, until as you turn its gonna resist at one single point. That's when you've caught her attention and she's run out of excuses and only hates you for one thing. What number is that?" he asks me, indicating the padlock.

"Erm, 5 and a bit?" I reply.

"That's right. If its between a number you round up. So it'll be 6, and then your gonna add 5 which makes?"

"11."

"They do teach you kids enough at this school, all right. 11. That'll be your first number."

The janitor goes through step by step how to open it. Showing how to spin the dial counter clockwise and repeating what I did. He opens her locker, which must be easy for him. He is the janitor.

"Open sesame," he says. He picks up a tiny pink book and shakes it next to his ears. He opens it on a random page. "Dear diary, today was hella boring, well, it most certainly was until I met the cutest boy named Gus today—" he reads.

"Hey, lemme see," I say.

"Uh-uh- _uh,_ " he says, slamming the book shut again and tossing it back in her locker. "Who am I to encourage a good kid to become bad?" he laughs, patting me on my cheeks.

He shuts the locker back up, with a click with the padlock. Never mind.

The janitor goes his merry way, whistling. TJ breaks up the conversation and comes up to me. Molly walks passed us in the other direction.

"Didn't you see me waving at you?" TJ asks.

"You were waving at me? Oh," I say, taking off my glasses and wiping the lenses with my shirt. "I, er, don't think I saw you."

"But you we're looking straight at—,you know what, never mind. The Wall Street kids stock teen brokers are making investors get to the top, River City style. You in?"

I look back to see if there's any sign of the janitor. "Okay, Teej."

TJ and I walk up to economics. I've never been in this section of high school outside of lessons. There's a bustle of kids in ties and rolled up sleeves negotiating with other groups of kids from around the school. TJ leaves me and starts negotiating something with one of the Wall Street kids. There's four inter connected mathematics classrooms of economics, algebra, calculus and business connected along. It's in full swing with people buying these things called stocks in tickets and selling them back with each other. I dunno. Along the ceiling there are banners, rolling flashing green numbers and information...(LSA) Lick and stick alien stamps +0.66 | 1.96%, (GO) Gum O-flex sneakers incorporated +0.41| 0.51%, Comicopolous Inc +0.1| 0.54%, (PB) Preppie Bank Corporation -0.11| -0.37%, (JL) Jetlife airlines +0.30| 0.92%, (RBMX) Ruddler's BMX Ltd +0.1243| 0.11%...The list rolls on.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or has the Gustler Kid made a return?" announces Fingers Maloy to me, taking his hand out of his long trench coat to shake mine.

I haven't physically seen him since he helped me distribute long string paddle toys at Third Street.

"Hi Fingers," I reply, shaking his hand. "Not really, I was just going to recess."

"That's a pity," says Fingers, lifting his hand out, stopping me. "If you did have money to burn, then investing in stocks is a good way to make that mad net profit, or at least enough to get you through lunch."

Two girls come up to us.

Fingers makes a sigh. "How goes it, Kumiko?" he greets.

Kumiko seems to be part of the tech kids. Her black hair is straight, she has pink headphones around her neck with a matching pink padded jacket. The girl beside her is absorbed on her little device.

"The free WiFi here is hardly hack-proof, it's too easy to steal your information," says Kumiko, completely avoiding a hello back.

Fingers chuckles a bit. "So, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying," says Kumiko, more slowly. "The security measures of the stock index could be better. If it weren't for my friend enhancing the file transfer protocol on her phone just now, out of boredom, it could have been hacked by anyone."

These girls are out-my-league smart.

"Meh," goes Fingers, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll look into it."

"You Wall Street kids exchange dollars to yen?" asks Kumiko, swiftly switching the subject.

Her friend is typing quickly on her phone, next to Kumiko. Moving alongside her in unison, when ever Kumiko does move.

"But of course, little shawty," Fingers Maloy replies, revealing some purple, red and golden colored greenbacks from his long coat.

The girl beside Kumiko stops and looks up.

"深刻この嫌いな人は今あります? (Is this asshole serious right now?)" goes Kumiko's friend beside her, in Japanese.

I think it's Japanese. I've seen enough army films with kamikazes, and Chinese martial films without the shoddy dub, to know the difference.

"That's a refutable stereotype," says Kumiko to Fingers. "Asian's aren't all shorter."

"No, hol' up, I didn't mean that. It's an American thing," says Fingers, turning is head from side to side, making his dreadlocks shake.

"Everything here in this high school is an American thing," Kumiko sneers, narrowing her eyes.

She snatches the yen out of his hand and gives her dollars to him in exchange. Kumiko lowers her head quickly to him in a bow, then goes off in a huff, making her small Happy Cat Head backpack bounce around like a bobble head.

"What was that about?" I ask.

"That was a girl in a bad mood, my friend. Notice how she took the money though. Money speaks, no matter what language, especially when it comes to the ladies," replies Fingers.

* * *

 **Man can only live on chip beef on crackers, for so long.** I'm definitely reaping the rewards for working after-school. I'm the top dog of the table now when it comes to having a big lunch, well, except for Mikey.

"Hey," greets Geoffrey to me, now taking a seat at our table. Geoffrey's wearing this pretty cool green and yellow Hawaiian shirt with a clear white 'Hyphy' lettering across it. "Mikey told me about your Molly situation."

Spinelli lets out a laugh. "Too be honest though, everybody knows."

"Yeah," TJ says, joining in. "If you had superpower heat vision you would've burned her face off by now," he says to me, mid bite.

Geoffrey motions back to me. "All you can do is ask her out once, if she says no, then there's no big deal. Maybe you two can become good friends afterwards because of it," Geoffrey finishes, with a reassured smile.

Gretchen stares at Geoffrey in disbelief. "I can't believe this is coming from someone who crushed so hard on me. You were such a pest," Gretchen says, shaking her head.

"Yup, we've all certainly grown up. Some more than others. You can learn a thing a two from TJ, you gotta stop eyeing me up like I'm a some piece of meat," replies Geoffrey.

"Don't be so lud—" starts Gretchen.

Geoffrey shushes her with his finger on her lips. He's now curling his index finger under her chin. "I'm so sorry. We. Us. We're never gonna happen," says Geoffrey, making all of us on our table, burst out laughing. Except for Gretchen who looks a bit peeved off.

Yope Halberson comes over with his lunch tray in his hands. "If anyone _cood_ impress a girl it would be you, _hett gutt_ ," he says to me, with his overbearingly positive smile.

Was he standing here this whole time or is me like-liking Molly that obvious? Mikey moves over and prompts Yope to sit with us.

"Ya see, Gus," TJ says, "Yope believes in—oh, speaking of the pink haired wonder."

I follow what TJ's staring at, looking over my shoulder. Troy is talking to Molly and whispering in her ear, leaning his forearm on the wall. I stand up and before I know it, I'm contemplating on going over.

"Pardon me for intruding, Yope?" asks Gretchen, leaning towards him. "But what's with the accent? I can't pin point that dialect, it doesn't sound like any part of Norway I know of."

"My parent's we're recluses in my country," Yope replies.

"That, uh, still doesn't explain it," says Gretchen. She's pondering at Yope with with her fingers on her chin.

Spinelli's is saying, "You can't stand there all day, Gus. You don't wanna be a creepy stalker looking at her from far away, right?"

I know what Spinelli's referring to. I walk up to them.

Troy's leaning on a wall and he's speaking right into Molly's ear. "How could you not have liked any of those shows?" he asks her.

"Educational programming is kinda sad when you think about," Molly replies.

"Nah, I'm just saying, you're really cute in a Dora-the-explorer-straight-outta-Lazy-town sort of way," Troy says, touching her hair.

Think about what Mikey said. Just say how you feel, from the depths in your soul, or something.

Oh my god, she's turning towards me.

"Oh, hey Gus," greets Molly, making Troy look at me too.

I yell out loud, "I think you're really pretty!" Making everyone in the cafeteria go quiet.

" _Awww_!" Troy goes, taking hold of my hand and swinging it. "I think your really pretty too."

The whole place erupts in laughter. From the hipsters to the UN, they all catch on to Troy's remark to me. Troy starts fluttering his eyes making the cheerleaders crack up too. I look over at Vince. He's trying to hold back a smile, shaking his head at Troy. Molly looks apologetic, biting her lip at me.

I leave the cafeteria. I can't take all of that at once. Its out of my hands, if Troy likes Molly then I have no chance. The only chance I have is if I know exactly what she's thinking, like all the time.

Molly's locker. It's right there. Looking from side to side, no ones in this hallway because it's still technically lunch. I hold her padlock. What am I doing? This is so wrong. This is a breach of privacy.

But.

She did write in her diary that she thinks I'm cute. The janitor said so himself. Maybe she feels the same about me. I move the dial, I'm following the janitor's steps, calculating five combination numbers in my head until I land on the three numbers I need.

Clockwise. Click.

Anti clock wise. Click.

The last one. I've come this far, I might as well. It's open. I get a better look inside Molly's locker. There is a bright pink beaded curtain that falls across the opening. The inside has pictures of My Fuzzy Unicorn, cartoons and a mirror on the other side of the door. Next to some text books is her diary.

I flick inside of it. What is this? This diary is not even a diary at all. It just has pictures and sketches inside it and Molly's timetable is glued on the first flap. What was the janitor reading from?

"Ahem," goes someone beside me. I look around. It's Menlo. "Breaking and entering," says Menlo, writing down on his slips. "Ooh boy, that's a serious offense."

"Menlo," I say, "it's not what it looks like, I mean it is, but I didn't mean to—"

"Ah," goes Menlo. "But you did. Here are your detention slips, your first of many. Read the fine print."

Menlo hands me four detention slips. He just seemed to come out of nowhere.

What have I done? I'm a criminal. A no good thief.

* * *

Its the end of the day as I go inside of the detention classroom. Vince sitting there already talking to Mr Dude.

"Gus," goes Vince, excitedly. "What are you doing here?"

"I made a mistake, and I'm so so sorry for it," I reply, sitting beside him.

Mr Dude gets off his seat and nudges me. "Whatever it is, we can cure it with a little game of rock, paper planes and origami."

I scratch my head. "Huh? What's that?"

Vince smiles. "Just the best game ever. Mr Dude and I invented it."

Vince and Mr Dude make detention one of the highlights today. I make my way out the school, running back to Kelso's. I'm already an hour late. Pushing the doors open, I get inside the corner store.

"Gus. Where have you been?" asks Kelso, stretching his coat on.

"Sorry," I reply, putting my work apron on. "I was held back at school today."

Kelso sighs. "You're going to have to shut up shop early today. I have to pick up my wife from her appointment, knowing her, she's probably already incensed."

"Can't I run the store on my own?" I ask.

"You're too young, maybe next year. Okay, I have to go. I can trust you to lock the store up for me?" he asks handing me the keys.

"Yes, definitely."

"Good," replies Kelso, walking to the door. "And do it now, please?"

Mr Kelso leaves.

I take my apron off and hang it back on it's hanger. The store's front door bell rings. I better tell this customer that we're closing.

Molly? She rollerblades into the store going to the usual sweets she always does. I thought she never wanted to come here anymore, well, that's what I was thinking. On my watch it says it's 4:20.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" I ask her.

"Hmm?" Molly goes, getting closer up to me. "Well, the other day you were all like, I don't know what language I speak sometimes, and I was like, I know Spanish, so I was thinking. Maybe I should go back to the United Nerds after school instead of going straight to the skatepark and then here."

"Oh," I breath out.

"So what's up?" she asks, with her bright eyes staring at me.

"I, um, er, I just wanted to know if you will go out with me? I know, I know, I'm not a big muscular sporty jock guy, or a really cool hipster or a smarty pants scientist-y tech kid," I say, losing track with where I'm going with this. "I am Gus P Griswald! I am who I am! And if that's good enough for you, then, _sorry_!"

Molly takes her lollipop out from her mouth. "You're so high strung and I'm all the way on the other side of the spectrum. If I'm yellow, then you're red, and I don't know about you but, orange is kinda icky. Why do you think criminals wear orange jumpsuits in prison?"

"Because it makes escape more difficult, as it is nearly impossible for any escaped convict to avoid being recognized and recaptured when—" I stop. Molly looks at me with a blank stare. "Yeah, okay."

"What's that?" asks Molly, looking up at the cardboard box of the Japanese sweets.

"I don't think I'm supposed to—" I start.

"Please?" she asks, really really sweetly.

"I can't."

"Pretty please with a cherry bomb on top?"

She just shut me down. I climb up the shelves. She's just using me to get what she wants. I pick up the forbidden box labelled not tested. She's spelled it out in colors that she doesn't like-like me. I'm already opening the box up as Molly peers through all the sweets inside.

Molly picks one up. "These look mega."

"What do you thinks so bad about them? Not being tested shouldn't mean its all bad?" I wonder out loud.

"Then, lets be the first to test them out," she goes, taking a handful, leaving the store.

"Hey, come back."

I close the box of Japanese sweets back up, going to the front door. Molly hasn't run off, she's right outside. Digging in my pocket, I take the keys out and double lock Kelso's. I nudge it two times to make sure its definitely locked.

"Nope," says Molly. "No one's getting in there." She takes my hand. "Come on soldier, lets disperse."

We run up to the Townsedge mall. Molly takes a sweet out, unwraps it and lays it on her tongue. She gives me one and waits. I just look at it.

"Uhh-et-ongh-ur-ungh," she goes, with her mouth still open, it probably translates to, 'put it on your tongue'.

She does the same thing for me with the sweet. The tangy flavor flames on my taste buds. All at once my vision is getting brighter and clearer as if it's too clear. She takes my hand as we go through store to store. All the shops are getting wider and the mall is get larger. We're running, causing chaos and throwing clothes around.

What is happening? I think I just saw a unicorn. Bright pink and galloping across the food court.

"Hey Molly, did you see that?" I ask her, as she runs outside another store again.

"You're gonna have to catch me first," she laughs back.

I don't think I love her, I know I do. There's something crazy about knowing I couldn't care less if she doesn't feel the same. Spending this time with her means everything. Right now is what matters. Going out with her, being her boyfriend just doesn't even seem right. I don't think she should belong to anyone. I just want her to be happy. If that means she's with someone else that makes her that happy, it'll tear me into pieces like soggy paper, but if she's ever sad and alone, it will hurt me much more.

I catch up to Molly and her flowery hair band breaks off, becoming a garden. Her pink hair flows into pink grass and we're running across it. The pink grass is sprouting between the tiles cracks and every little nit and cranny on the ground.

Molly comes up to me with her arms out, spinning us together around in a circle, making her Jamacàmon virtual pet dangle off. A massive retro animal zaps out of her virtual game from her necklace. It's pixelated, roaring, as it stomps it's big feet across the mall. Everything seems to speed up. There's a pretzel pyramid. The escalators become a long stretch, moving on endlessly to what seems like forever. Some kids with balloons keep holding on to the string as they float to the next flight of levels.

A mall cop transforms into a large slug-like creator, still in his uniform, sliding across the grass, leaving slime residue-y stuff being him. We jump on counter tops and tables to get away. As he blows his whistle, the sounds flicker off with notes. The lights on the ceiling turn into candy. Dishes of square samples of food spin across in the distance. Cut out adverts of cartoon brands track us with their eyes. The PA system in the food court flow through the air in patterns as all the pop music blow up into bubblegum.

* * *

 **All this soft, cuddly stuff I've never seen before can't be good sign.** I stare dead eye to eye with a teddy bear. It has 'love me' written across it's chest. I'm in a white and pink room, laying down on the carpet. I turn on my side. Molly is on her knees by her laptop, talking to her screen. I reach for my glasses and put them on so my eyes can now focus.

"It's been forever since I made an upload, but yesterday was so so so amazing I just have to tell someone about it. But firsties, to all you trollers saying I'm fake. I'm not, okay? Like, come on, what the hell, you guys? I thought you guys were cools. In the comments all I'm reading is, 'you're pretending to be hyperactive', 'there's something wrong with you', 'you just want the attention', erm, I'm not. I'm just a really happy person and I like art, and if you can't take it then maybe there's something wrong with _you_. Anyways, at least now I have an excuse for all this energy."

Molly pauses to eat one of the sweets from Kelso's. She moves it to the side of her mouth till it sticks out like a jawbreaker.

"My new bestie Gus and I found these amazing sweets from Japan, they're so amazeballs, oh my god, you guys. We saw, or at least I saw, puppies and rainbows and raining Molarbusters. It was craziness. I've been popping these babies all night, I think I'm addicted. No. Erasies that. I know I am." Molly turns away from her webcam and looks at to me. "Hey Gus, do you think you can get us more of those sweets?" Molly looks back at her camera, waving me to come closer. "Oh, you guys. This is Gus, everyone."

I roll off my side and sit next to Molly. The screen is recording us both. On the top right of the screen has the Yourvids logo. Her username's 'Popping Molly' and besides it is the number indicating how many subscribers she's got. Its over one and a half million. Gees.

"Hi?" I go, looking straight, unsure where I'm supposed to be staring at.

Molly side hugs me, making her poking sweet hit my cheek. "I'm so proud of him. He really broke out of his shell. I mean, it was weird when you kept yelling there was a unicorn, I mean it's cools you love them too but you were so so adamant about it. Oh, and when you threw that salt into the mall cops eyes, that was so amazing. You wanna add anything?" she asks, twisting her head at me.

"I don't know," I say, rubbing my eyes under my glasses. "I can't remember what happened yesterday."

"We saw strange stuff at the mall and we were having so much fun that you asked to come over."

"I did?" I ask, forgetting for a second that we're being recorded.

"Uh, yeah," says Molly, slapping my forehead. "You kinda insisted, really. Plus you kept trying to kiss me, you called me pretty over and over. And." Molly pauses and chuckles. "You took off your glasses and you kept telling me to call you Guy. When we stayed up all night just talking about high school, cartoons, the universe, I told you things that I haven't told anyone ever, and I probably won't ever again."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah Gus," Molly replies, with a big beaming smile. She goes back on the screen. "That's it for my vlogy update. I know it was a short one. Remember, friendship is magic. Byes." She blows a kiss to the camera and places her hand over the webcam.

Molly folds up her laptop, getting up from the carpet, to her bedroom door. She stops and looks back at me.

"You have to sneak out of the house before my parents see you," says Molly.

"You can't be serious," I reply, getting up on my feet too.

"If my dad catches you, he'll surely kill you," she says, casually, not even batting an eye.

Molly starts to leave.

"You gotta help, though," I say, fetching my backpack in the corner of the room and putting it around my back.

"Okay," she sighs. "When the times right, I'll give you a signal."

I hold her arm to stop her from leaving again. "What's the signal gonna be?"

Molly narrows her eyes, then smiles. "You'll know it."

She leaves her bedroom. I'm left by myself in here. Opening the door very carefully, I notice I'm upstairs by the looks of it. I tiptoe down the stairs, holding the railing very lightly. The staircase goes downwards in a spiral, at the bottom of the stairs there's a dog house with the name 'Bruiser' on the roof of it. This is not gonna go well for me, stealth trained or not.

I hear what seems to be Molly's parents from the kitchen. I sneak up to the room. I peek around the open door. The front door is behind them.

"Mija, so what in pray tell is so good about this UN?" asks who must be Molly's dad.

"We help, Daddy," Molly replies, staring at the see-through toaster.

"Yeah, but what your father is trying to say is," says Molly's mom, I think. "We think its odd that you were so against it just a while back, but know you stay after school all night."

"Well, I—" starts Molly, staring at me. She rolls her eyes to the left.

I don't move. She does it again. I crouch to the left side of the kitchen this time.

"I've had a change of mind, my new friend Gus kinda reminded me about it," Molly continues.

Molly's dad scrunches his eyebrows. "That's the first you mentioned any Gus. Does he go to your school?"

"Yep, same year," Molly says, moving to the right, holding her dad's hand as they walk around me.

"Stop," says Molly's dad. "I think there's someone else in this room."

"No there isn't," replies Molly, pulling him more to the right.

Molly's mom gets up. "No Molly, I think he's right."

Molly loses her grip on her dad's sweater. I move inside a cupboard as quickly and as carefully as possible.

"Ah, you hear that?" her dad asks.

He looks under the table and sees nothing. He opens a cupboard right next to where I am. He's coming closer.

 _Bang!_ Molly drops a pot on the kitchen floor.

"Molly, what are you doing?" says her mom, looking confused.

Molly's dad turns around. I slowly peel out of the cupboard space and lean crouched beside it where he can't see me, unless he turns his head around to look. The outside is so near.

Her dad goes back and opens the cupboard I was just in. His peripheral is stuck on Molly and her mom. He keeps it swung open, the door blocking the view of me. "I sense you now, you thought you could hide from me," he sneers.

I am so done.

A big dog comes running into the kitchen. It starts slobbering all over her dad's face. It has the name 'Bruiser' on it's collar. A literal dog tag. He closes the cupboard door, leaving me exposed. He's completely occupied by the dog.

"You thought you could run away from me boy, huh? You did, didn't you?" he says to the dog, walking back inside.

I crouch my way out of there, almost going prone on the ground. Reaching the front door I slowly turn the knob and get out.

School's about to start in thirty minutes. I check my phone. There's five missed calls, all from Mom.

I enter Thad high and pass by some of the students. Oh no. My maths homework. I completely forgot I was supposed to do it, and it's my first lesson. I guess tutor time is a good time to do it, but my head hurts and I need to chomp on something. The vending machine seems like my savior. And speaking of savior. Gretchen's here, well, she's always the first in and the first out, it's not really a surprise.

Opening my backpack, I take out my maths homework.

She's gotta help me.

We are best friends, well, one of five anyway.

**[PLAY SONG "Two door cinema club – What you know" AT THIS POINT]**


	6. Good girl gone bad

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 5

Gretchen POV

* * *

 **"Galileo,** what occurs to two ionic compounds, and a double replacement reaction, once it's dissolved in water?" I ask my device, even more smoothly, enunciating each word.

"Sorry Gretchen, repeat your question more clearly," Galileo responds.

Chemistry is easy. Science is my life. Why don't I know this? I'm not used to having to wait for the curriculum to be handed to me. A challenge is something I always crave for, but now that I have it, I just feel like everyone else.

"Gretchen, I need some help," asks Gus, rushing towards me with a sheet of paper. "I wasn't home last night, and, well, that should be the first step in order to do your homework, right?"

I take Gus's assignment off of him. I look at the algebraic equations. I know this. I work from the top of the page all the way down to the bottom.

"Done," I say, handing back Gus', now completed, algebraic equations.

Oh wait. I shouldn't have done his work for him. I stare into space trying to work out my dilemma. Gus thanks me three times and goes to the queue of kids behind the vending machine.

"Problem?" ask the janitor.

"I just can't figure out this science problem," I explain.

"You lost me," the janitor replies, shrugging, now looking at the vending machine.

Where are the genius prodigy janitor's like Hank when you need them?

"I'll tell you what, take Gus's dollar from him," says the janitor.

"Huh? Why?" I ask.

What could the janitor truly be on about?

"But don't ask him, and show it to me, treat it like an experiment," he says. "Don't worry, Gus knows me."

I want to refuse, but I'm really intrigued to see what this janitor is up to. I ask him why again, but he says I must go through with it or he won't tell me. Maybe he's hiding the answer to my dilemma. I take Gus's dollar to his dismay as he's still deciding by the vending machine. I show the janitor the money. He's only got a name tag on his overalls stating the obvious. Janitor. The janitor swiftly swipes it off my hand.

"Gretchen, what are you doing? Is this cause you did my homework for me?" asks Gus.

The janitor gets out a clear liquid from his cleaning supplies and pours it on Gus's bill. I hope this isn't gasoline. He takes a lighter out and sets the dollar on fire.

"You're burning it!" shouts Gus.

"Am I? Look at it, _really look at it,_ " says the janitor, and on closer inspection the money has not changed in size, the blue flame stays infinitely burning like an Olympic torch as he holds it for a few seconds. He waves it a few times and the fire goes away, and hands it back to Gus, fully intact.

"Thanks?" says Gus, taking his drenched bill, looking confused at both of us. He goes back to the vending machine with it.

"I know how that's done. The cellulose fiber in the note couldn't absorb the alcohol you must've poured on it. Neat. Thanks for trying to get my mind off—" I start.

"No, that's not my point," the janitor says. "I saw you do Gus's homework and not even bat an eye. But right now you did something. You didn't have to give me that money, hell, you don't even know me. I just wanted to prove to you that money, like any possession, belongs to people who don't know what to do with it. You know how to set fire to cash without it turning to ash."

"It's not even right what I did," I state.

"What? Because you took it without asking? Because burning money is illegal? Maybe the ends justify the means, especially when you know how to scientifically use it better," he says, with a shrug. "Have a good day, erm?"

I tell him my name.

"Gretchen Grundler," he repeats back to me with a big wide smile.

The janitor takes his mop bucket and wringer into room 404. He closes the door quickly behind himself before I can get a good look inside. It's so peculiar. The whole thing. The door itself doesn't have a window on the top or the same white and silver color scheme as the rest of them. It's all scratched up and looks all abandoned, even for a utility closet.

I try to get that weird interaction out of my mind as I go to tutor class. I make my way inside as people are already chatting and finding their seats. Ashley T is articulating a cheer with one of the cheerleaders in her squad. Vince is sitting down next to Wylie and we briefly make eye contact. Vince smiles at me. That's odd. It feels like my insides are filling up with helium. I'm having heart palpitations, like its fluttering or something. I hope it's not noticeable.

I stand in front of Deshay, who I'm assigned to sit next to. He's wearing even cheaper looking apparel than yesterday from the looks of it.

"Gretchen," says Deshay, raising his head from his folded arms on the table. "The same royal blue blouse dress with the pink belt, I see."

"I like how I look," I say, putting my textbooks down on the table as I take a seat. "Wearing the same thing everyday is reliable like a scientist."

"And predictable like a cartoon character," adds Deshay, with a grin. "I look fly right now, don't you think? I have no idea why dumpster diving has such a bad rap."

Geoffrey turns up. He shines a red apple by rubbing it on his Hawaiian shirt. He places it on Miss Schwartz's desk.

"What's this?" asks Miss Schwartz, lowering her Hemingway book from her eyes and examining the apple.

"Depends," replies Geoffrey, leaning on her desk. "It could mean a lot of things. It's forbidden. Known for the fall of man. Love. New York's nickname. An easy A?"

"I'm sticking to the grade I gave you Geoffrey. It was a bit too avant-garde," Miss explains, putting her book down on the last spot she read.

"For your taste?" asks Geoffrey.

"No. For the curriculum. One paragraph reports won't fly in high school."

"Miss, it's not about what you say, it's about what you don't say," says Geoffrey, taking a look at Miss Schwartz's book. "Fine. I'll take my apple where it'll be appreciated."

Miss Schwartz has a rare hint of a grin as she goes back to reading her book. Geoffrey takes his apple from her desk and stuffs it in his pocket. He starts going through class saying hello to people on his way to his seat.

Deshay turns to me. "If you ever have a makeover, I probably wouldn't even recognize you."

Geoffrey makes his way towards me but looks just passed my shoulder. "Hello? Good morning? Hi?" he says, over an over.

Behind me is Chrystal, an emo girl with a stone cold expression. She's looking bitterly back at him.

Geoffrey puts his attention on me. "Hi Gretchen," he sighs.

"Hi Geoffrey," I say back, turning back round fully on my desk.

"One day you will say hi to me," says Geoffrey, towards Chrystal again sitting next to her. "And it'll be a surprise for both of us."

Geoffrey is now sitting right behind me. Just like all those years ago in Miss Grotke's class.

* * *

I go through my lessons with the general ease I'm more than accustomed to.

TJ stops me as our recess break comes to a close and asks for some assistance on his work. I finally have time to myself and instead of trying to solve my problem or catching up on my own work, I'm helping TJ.

Nothing in this world is scientifically impossible, except for saying no to TJ Detweiler.

We get down to the nitty gritty. It's only study hall, so I can only be in his half-an-hour of need.

"Teej, I admire that you put a lion can eat a shark and an alligator can eat a cheetah, but food webs don't work like that," I explain.

"Yeah I know. I just find it boring to stick to the same ecosystem I'm assigned in. C'mon, you can't tell me a shark couldn't take out a gator. Sharks blow up if they stop moving and everything," replies TJ.

"Not exactly, you see, some species of shark need to keep moving in order to keep water and oxygen to flow through their gills. Look for the book by Rosenberg, it'll help you."

TJ goes off in pursuit of the textbook.

"What's the haps, Gretch?" asks Spinelli, coming out of no where, stretching her fingers that poke through her long brown and yellow stripped knitted gloves, on to the suspenders of her black pinafore skirt.

I wish I could be as care free as she is sometimes.

I refresh Spinelli on the help I'm offering Teej, which is pretty much a normality in high school.

"One of the more curious of fish, sharks tend to sleep and move all at once," I say, "they can use half of their brain at a time."

"Like a boy," says Spinelli.

"Then you'd mean more like a quarter percent of it," I reply.

We laugh together causing the librarian to signal a "sshh" to her lips.

"What did I miss that's so funny?" asks TJ, with the book on the animal kingdom in his hand.

"Nothing," Spinelli and I reply, in unison.

* * *

The rest of the day I am weighed down with a hypothesis hunch on my back. School is over but not for my class and I.

It's halfway through AP Science and Dr Watson commences our brain warm down, she literally won't let us have our six minute breaks in the classroom anymore. We all know she uses this as an excuse to take a smoking break, and doing it inside a bio-hazard suit to mask the smell.

I'm at the empty student lounge with Kumiko, abandoned by all the kids who don't spend their time at school doing extra curricular activities. It's surrounded with stacks of books, soft beanie chairs and educational artifacts.

I ask Kumiko how's she's finding it, living and learning in a new country.

"Screw the student exchange program. I'm here to stay," replies Kumiko, patting down her padded pink sleeveless waistcoat. She takes a few dollar bills out. "Although, I'm still getting used to you American's using vending machines for only snacks and drinks."

What was the janitor telling me this morning? Does the end justify the means if you have a better acumen than the person you take a possession from?

"Could you help me? I've searched every book in the library on my chemistry problem but it seems to be left out, like it's perhaps too complex for high schoolers, or such common knowledge that every author that should be addressing it have kept it out?" I ask.

"No," says Kumiko, retrieving her soda and sliding a crazy straw down it. Kumiko throws me a pack of CandyPoppers into my hand. "We're lab partners, not life partners. Ask Dr Watson."

"She's telling me to stop moving too far through the lessons," I reply. "Please?"

"Do I have to put in subtitles or something? No means no," she says, putting her headphones on. "You're killing my J-pop vibe."

I return back to my class. We continue the next half of the lesson.

"Can I have Kumiko and Gretchen up here, please?" asks Dr Watson, crossing off the next name from her clipboard.

Kumiko and I get up to do our presentation. The green chalk board has the title 'Destructive solutions.' We get in front of everyone with the beakers and the other equipment there waiting for us.

"We've decided to do our experiment on—" I start, looking at Kumiko.

Kumiko doesn't say anything.

"On, uh, potassium chlorate," I continue. "Potassium chlorate is a very effective oxidising agent, which as you know, is really good at snatching electrons from other reactants. We've chosen to use some sweets from the vending machine. If you combine something sugary and add a little heat to it then we get an oxidation reaction. Sulphuric acid instead of heat would make the reaction even more out of control."

"When can we start blowing up bigger things?" asks Kumiko to Dr Watson.

I choose to intervene before the teacher. "That's where you're wrong, Kumiko," I say, putting my safety goggles on.

"Really?" Kumiko sighs, putting her goggles on too.

"Add some CandyPoppers to the potassium chlorate," I say, pouring the sweets to the chemicals. The test tube lights up. "With enough sugar, one could blow up just about anything."

The test tube roars as the pink bright light flashes inside of it. It rocks around in my hand lightly like an unstable firecracker ready to shoot off. Steam and sparks speed out of it. It keeps fizzing until the sugar finishes.

"Well worked and debated girls," says Dr Watson, scribbling something down. "I like the feed off each other, it's almost as if you two are putting on a show for us."

The class applauds as Kumiko and I squabble back to our seats.

"Why do you always have to argue with me?" I ask her, finding my stool.

"I hate chemistry corner," moans Kumiko. "I'm not going to pretend to like what I find boring."

"Boring? Chemistry is the foundation of science," I argue.

"Uh-nah," Kumiko replies mockingly, rolling her eyes. "Science technology is where it's at. Stop sticking to the past you cave girl."

Dr Watson slams her folder. "That's enough girls."

"Excuse me, but what do you think made that iCell you're using?" I ask her. "Um, that's right, chemistry. Indium, tin and oxygen make the transparent film on your screen so it can conduct electricity."

Kumiko scoffs at me. "Oxygen's everywhere you dumb-wad. I'm in the future making new realities, building colonies on Mars and you're stuck on Earth playing around with your little chemistry sets."

"Praseodymium, Terbium, Yttrium, and Gadolinium," I list on my fingers. "Just a little segment of elements that help produce vibrant coloration on the phones you tech Kids hold so sacred. Without chemistry, technology would not exist."

We both huff and cross our arms. We push our lab stools, looking away from each other.

"I think they're finished, Miss," says someone in the class.

I watch the other presentations happen until the lesson is over.

Mikey and Geoffrey have been waiting for me outside the classroom. Mikey with his hands in his pockets while Geoffrey's fiddling with rubber bands, performing tricks with pretty elaborate movements. Certainly reminiscent of the yo-yo tricks I used to do back in Third Street, but not quite.

I greet them.

Geoffrey reacts first. "Ah! Fair maiden with hair of fiery red," he replies, snapping his bands back to their original size as they cling to his wrists. "What's new in science?"

"Besides that us three inhabit less than zero point zero percent of an ever expanding universe, of different galaxies, artificial intelligence, and another Geoffrey in a parallel universe is probably asking me the opposite of your question right now? Nothing," I reply.

Mikey looks confused at me. "That means you still want to go to the mall with us."

I nod. "Affirmative," I sigh.

We leave school together. Walking down the sidewalk, we head into the Townsedge mall. It's lively in here and occupied by kids from after school, families and sales assistants trying to sell their merchandise. Some cheerleaders including Ashley A, Maddie and Ashley T make their way passed us. Maddie nudges me with a quick pat. Geoffrey nicks all the free food on plates with toothpicks, sharing them with Mikey. He tries to chuck one in my mouth, I catch it and eat it manually with my hands. Buying a slice a of pizza, we arrive at the food court, hanging out on one of the tables. We're just enjoying each others company.

Geoffrey waves his hand over my face. "You all right, Gretchen? You seem really distracted," he asks.

"Oh, sorry," I reply, picking at my pizza.

Geoffrey smiles. "Can I read you my poem? Mikey and the class literally bawled their eyes out at how beautiful it is."

Mikey shakes his head disapprovingly at Geoffrey, as he takes more bites on his morsels of food.

"Okay," I reply. "As long as it isn't about me."

"I can't promise you anything," says Geoffrey. He unfolds a piece of paper from the back pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, to Thad high school,

Where you become smart and not a fool,

Where jocks herd together in flocks,

Where Wall Streeters are buying stocks,

Where cheerleaders are gossiping heat seekers,

Where emos slowly evolve into chill pill tweakers,

Where the United Nerds are thinking of their futures,

So they'll most likely become the new teachers,

There are so many things for me to hold dear,

With this bound to be one heck of a freshman year,

This is because my best friends don't belong in circles,

TJ is accepting and won't spot any difference like his freckles,

Mikey whose warm heart is bigger than his gut,

Gus whose not short in attention but with his crew cut,

Spinelli protects her pals even though she's troublesome,

And Gretchen, oh Gretchen, your lips are still like pink bubblegum," Geoffrey finishes, putting his poem on the table. "So, what do you think of it? Do you love it? Or do you love it?"

"Um," I reply, hoping Mikey will come in and say something. "I think most multiple choices have different options, so that's hardly fair."

Mikey taps Geoffrey on the arm. "She likes it," he assures to him, widening his eyes at me with a comforting grin.

Leaving the mall, we break up into our different paths to our homes. Finally at my house, I trudge up the stairs and lay down on my bed, just looking up at the ceiling. It is completely silent in the house except for the slight humming of my particle accelerator. It still needs tweaking but I did fashion it out of a broken hair dryer and a four-slice taster oven, after all. I need to get back to my homework. Work out my dilemma. I let my eyes rest for a second.

My front door bell rings.

Seeing as I'm the only one home, I go down stairs and answer it.

It's Spinelli waiting for me on my porch. "Gretchen!" she shouts, spreading out her arms.

"Spinelli? What are you doing here?" I ask her as she makes her way into my house.

"Thanks for doing me a solid and helping me on my science report," Spinelli says, patting me on the arm.

"I don't recall agreeing to help you?" I go.

"Oh, I thought I texted you," says Spinelli, flicking up her phone and going through it. "Well, I'm here so."

Spinelli crashes into my room. She takes out her report on the solar system, which she's only written a short sentence for. I break down physics, trying hard not to confuse her with over complicated phrases.

It's getting late. Mom and Dad have come back from work already. Spinelli writes down her last couple of sentences with my guidance. I did all of Gus's work for him this morning. I still feel guilty about that. I won't make that mistake again.

It's 1:30 in the morning.

I read through my books, trying to jog back my memory on ionic compounds.

"What's that?" ask Spinelli, looking up at my book before writing down on her own work.

"I'm working on my own project," I reply, taking a sip of my Angry Dragon energy drink. "I just can't figure this one thing out. I should know it, that's why it's bothering me so much. It sucks."

"Maybe it's impossible," Spinelli says, shrugging, putting her pen down. "I can finish the rest at my house. Thanks a lot Gretch, you're the best," she adds, gathering up all her work. She gets up putting her hand on my shoulder. "See you at school tomorrow."

"You mean in a couple of hours."

"Oh crap, yeah," Spinelli replies.

Spinelli leaves. She makes her own way out.

She's right, maybe it is impossible to solve.

Insoluble.

Egad, that's it.

A double replacement reaction can occur if two of the ions form an insoluble ionic compound, which precipitates out of solution.

* * *

 **I'm so depleted, I let Kumiko take my iCell off me.** I would have to eat twelve of these sweets Gus gave me to get the right balance of calories for the equivalent of a balanced breakfast. The Japanese lettering on the wrapper must translate to something like—

" スーパーキャンディ(super candy,)" Kumiko says, shaking her head. "Don't eat those sweets, especially on an empty stomach, unless you want hallucinations and weird dreams. I used to have these back home when I pulled all nighters. Bad mistake."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you," I say.

I've become pensive seeing as, I have indeed missed breakfast.

"It's full mefloquine," she says, as she straightens her hime haircut. "Uh huh, companies spiked the crap out of it for kids too pussy to take a little vaccine shot."

"This wouldn't have to do with Japanese doctors no longer being familiar with tropical medicine would it? People in Japan have not been diagnosed promptly nor treated properly because of this. I've read some patients are dying from severe malaria as a consequence. Most of the effective medicines for drug-resistant malaria or severe malaria have not been registered in Japan," I recite from memory.

"Do your friends ever say you talk too much?" asks Kumiko, in a surprisingly sincere tone.

"No."

"They should," she mutters to me, as she returns back to sealing back the screws after deconstructing my phone.

Kumiko hands me my phone back.

"There you go Gretchen, your Galileo 2.0 has now got a power up. An extended health bar if you will."

"Thank you, but you really shouldn't deconstruct a licensed product and reprogram it," I say.

"The problem with computer products is that idiots buy them. They don't know they're not built to last. We drink sodas that take longer to expire than an iCell. It only lasts up to two years." Kumiko stops and takes a good look at me. "What's with the eye bags? You're not exactly telling me a million things about my own culture I already know."

"Spinelli came over and we stayed up late doing her homework," I say.

"Uh-huh," she says, hiding a smile.

Kumiko never smiles.

"What?" I ask.

"You bend over backwards to help a couple losers with their ABC's and timetables," she says.

"Hey! They're my friends. I've known them forever."

"Okay then, if they're supposed to be your friends. Why don't you just say no?"

Recess ends. The tech kids and I depart the outside benches and go back inside.

In the cafeteria I hold my tray and stare at the oncoming table I always sit by. The school has really cemented a segregated system now. There a seven separated groups except for my friends that stand out on the side as the inbetweeners. Geoffrey's poem rings prominently in my head.

My tray gets bumped by someone beside me.

"Oh, sorry, excuse me," I apologize.

I look to my right. It's Vince. "Hey Gretchen. Hows you? You good?" Vince asks.

I smile back at him. "I'm a bit worn out, but I'll be okay."

"Hmm," goes Vince, pondering in thought. "Nothing a little food can't solve. Hey, um, you wouldn't mind sitting with me, like, alone?"

"Really? If it's about you wanting me to help you with your work, I don't think I can—" I ramble.

"Gretch," says Vince, holding my shoulder. "I just wanna check up on my old buddy girl genius."

I sit down on a vacant table with Vince. He begins to unwind the plastic straw from his carton of juice and starts stabbing at his drink until it makes a hole. At my usual table, Spinelli and TJ are looking around to find where I am. On the table full of jock's, Troy is laughing at our direction.

"Your friends are laughing at us," I say, looking at their reactions.

"Yeah, they'll do that," Vince sighs. "So, you look a bit worn out like you said. I've been losing my head a bit too. High school's really a step up, ain't it?"

"Certainly," I say. "You're telling me. Thanks Vince."

"For what?" goes Vince, his mouth chewing down on his burger. "Well, I was worried about you Gretch and the worst thing is for us to suffer alone. So I thought we should at least struggle and get laughed at together."

We trade smiles and stare at each other for a second.

"Um, like, what is this?" asks Ashley B, towering Vince with her tray in hand. "Hey Gretchen."

"Hello," I say back to her.

Vince screws his eyes tight. "I'll see you around, yeah?" he says to me. Ashley B goes back to the table where the jocks and cheerleaders join together. Vince stands up. "Don't worry about me, Gretch. Ashley doesn't eat that much at lunch, so there's always leftovers for me to throw at Troy."

I laugh a little. Vince joins the jock table and slaps hands with the others one by one. I get up myself and sit by my table with Mikey, TJ and Spinelli.

Spinelli peers up at me eating her dessert jelly before her main. "You decided to turn up, then?" she laughs.

"Where's Gus?" I ask. "Wasn't he just here?"

TJ points his thumb to the side. "He moved up to the UN table," he explains.

On the table TJ's pointing to Gus is wedged between Molly and Yope.

Mikey peers at them. "I think fate has met these two lovers in the sweet setting that is known as the cafeteria area."

Spinelli smiles. "Nothing more sweet than stalking your crush into submission."

* * *

I've let myself look too obviously stressed. I don't know how long I've been staring into space in the school hallway with my heavy rucksack in my hand.

"What's eating you?" asks this guy inquisitively at me.

"I've just realized I serve no other purpose to my friends, other than being their gullible resource as they take turns to leech the intellect I hold in my brain," I reply.

"Wow, that's dark. I hate myself too," he says.

"No, that's not what I mean at all, I'm just venting out loud I'm afraid," I reply.

"You want to be your own person and you feel like your friends don't understand you."

"Exactly."

"I'm Drake, short for my vampire alter ego, Dracula. It means I'm the son of Lucifer," says Drake with a swipe of his black hair.

I exchange my name as I study his dark mascara eyeliner, and what I think are, artificial fangs in his mouth, while he speaks.

"But it's not like I'm putting my dad up on a pedestal or anything," Drake explains. "He wants me to do sports and be like everyone else, and he like the rest of the hive of the blissfully happy, don't understand that life is just a constant whirlwind of turmoil, loss and disappointment."

His clothes are a lot more darker than mine. An upside down cross design on his shirt and torn up jeans. He has links of silver jewellery from his neck down to his belt. His eyes are different shades of white and black on his irises. They're probably contacts, I doubt he has heterochromia.

"I always thought that life had purpose if you helped mankind and those people who need it," I say.

"Too much kindness can get confused for stupidity, Gretchen. Everyone is out for themselves. You seem way too cool for your friends to not recognize it. If you decide to finally realize happiness and death is the same thing, my group is here. I hate them but not as much as these other conformists," he says, staring down the cheerleaders and some hipsters. "Oh, and don't listen to them saying we're emo, we're just, you know, emotionally aware of everything."

School is over. I head home for my appointment. In my house I walk down to face the office. The door with Dr Grundler Ph D engraved on it, opens for me. Mom lets me in and I sit on the long therapist chair.

"Gretchen," welcomes Mom, going back behind her desk. "Is the high school's extra curricular still exceeding your intellectual capacity?"

"Yeah Mom," I reply, not looking back a her.

"Then what's wrong? Do you want to do a quick word association?" she asks.

"No thank you," I reply, still transfixed on the ceiling. "I'm happy. I think. High school is amazing and everything and I'm being challenged when I'm doing AP classes. It's just, I feel my friends are kinda holding me back."

"It's normal for girls your age to feel like this—" Mom starts.

"But I feel like I might snap any minute. I don't see the point anymore," I confess, getting up from the chair, now sitting up straight.

"Of trying to keep up with the trends they do? Has this got anything to do with Ashley Spinelli's very outspoken statuses on Friend site?" she keeps asking.

"I don't see the point of anything. I'm just a pushover," I say, getting up from the chair. "I'm going to the mall."

"We still have forty five minutes of this session left," says Mom.

"I don't care," I reply, walking out the door.

* * *

 **The slow mist flowing out of my Erlenmeyer conical flask fits my mood.** I sip my dry ice fog banana frappe from it. Extra syrup. My tutor class, and probably the entire school, have suited up as vampires, zombies and other typical ghoulish creatures. I honestly didn't even know it was Halloween today, or even that the protocol was to dress up at school like this. To think, I only dressed the way I have today, out of chance. I feel more free with my hands without having to keep adjusting my glasses. I used to think having contacts for your eyes were so frivolous but now I can literally see the appeal now.

Hardly anyone in tutor class is sitting down at their seats. Deshay is comparing his costume with the others. Vince, whose sitting two desks away, is dressed up as OJ Simpson. He's wearing an OJ mask, a light grey suit and has tight black gloves that don't seem to reach all the way down to the palm of his hands. I haven't seen Vince wear a suit since the six of us tried to keep clean on picture day at Third street.

"Wow that's so cool, how'd you make that?" asks this guy staring at my flask. He has dark green skin, maggot infested hair, and his left eyeball is bulging out of his socket.

"It's easy. Produce some high concentration of carbon dioxide, pressurize it and preserve it in refrigeration until it liquefies, and the liquid carbon dioxide vaporizes to solidify it's consistency. All you need is a plastic bag and that fire extinguisher over there," I say, leaning my head to the direction of the extinguisher at the side of the classroom.

"We're not a bookworm like you, do it for us," says his friend beside him, who also looks like he freshly dug himself out of his own grave.

"No," I say taking a sip. "I just told you how its done, plus you insulted me. I think I've done my part here."

The two guys part away bitterly back to the their seats. Tutor class comes to a close and I drag in my black boots to the door. From my peripheral, Vince is looking astonished at me, completely ignoring the different people engaging him in conversation.

The hallway is completely Halloween inspired. Fake cobwebs along the edge of the ceiling. Plastic bats on the lockers. Skeletons from the science lab are stood up on the walls. Every student walking passed me has at least a somewhat inspired costume on.

"Hi," says Kumiko, dangling a toy weapon in her hand.

If I'm not mistaken, Kumiko is dressed up as a character from one of Quentin Tarantino's films. She has a typical Japanese school girl outfit on but she's holding a very convincing looking mace.

"右、ビルを殺しますか？ _(Kill Bill, right?)_ " I ask her.

"正確に _(Exactamundo,)_ " Kumiko replies with a smile. "そして、あなたはエモです _(And you're an emo.)_ "

"私が推測する私たちはこの高校にいる人です _(I guess we are who we are in this high school,)_ " I say, feeling no emotion in my face.

"それは本当だ _(That's true,)_ " she replies with a nod.

"Hey, samesies," says Maddie, pointing at herself and Kumiko.

Maddie, who now has her hair now dirty blonde without ribbons, is wearing an all yellow jumpsuit with a crudely black stripe drawn down the sides.

Kumiko stands there and doesn't move as if she is just hit with a sudden paralysis. Maddie reiterates they've dressed the same and Kumiko's face finally changes. Kumiko's face turns stone cold in an instant and then into an innocent smile.

"あなたはハロウィーンを殺さなければなりませんでした。雌 _(You had to kill Halloween. Bitch,)_ " says Kumiko sweetly to Maddie.

Kumiko says it nicely but I know that it's anything but.

"I'm sorry, what? You can't speak English?" asks Maddie.

Kumiko stretches out her arms so Maddie and her can reach in and hug.

"唯一の私の武器は本物だった場合 _(If only my weapon was real,)_ " threatens Kumiko, as she changes her face into a devilish grin, motioning her mace towards Maddie's neck. "Happy friends, yeah?"

"Yeah, we can be friends," replies Maddie, letting go of their hug.

It looks like Kumiko's faking-nice, albeit pretending to not know a spick of English. I guess Kumiko's unhappy that they are now clashing the same franchise. If anything, Maddie is only matching Kumiko by being another character from Kill Bill. The complete opposite of clashing. Kumiko smiles at Maddie again and leaves us, dragging her mace along with her on the ground.

"Kick-ass, Gretch," chuckles Maddie, looking at my get up. "Black lipstick? Awesome."

Spinelli with TJ stops in front of us in mid stride. "Shut my mouth and call me hipster," she says.

It doesn't look like she recognized me at first, seeing as I'm dressed as an emo kid.

"Did they have an overhaul at Death Valley or what? See, I told'ya, Teej, these groups in our school are driving us apart, one by one," Spinelli finishes.

"I bought my clothes from the Cold Genre store, actually," I correct her. "No costume, Spinelli?"

Spinelli is wearing a dark pink shirt with a scary bloody skull on it. Perhaps she still feels too old to be a counterpart in the dressing up tradition of Halloween.

Maddie laughs. "Spins wearing pink, it doesn't get any scarier than that," says Maddie, staring at Spinelli's shirt. "All you need now is some eye shadow and the transformation is complete."

"You kidding?" goes Spinelli. "I like this shirt, but if I ever have to wear makeup I might barf up a lung."

TJ, with a silver mask partly covering his face in a red leather jacket, gets closer to Spinelli. "Hey, we wouldn't treat you any differently," he says, moving his mask away from his face and on to his head.

Spinelli pushes TJ away and almost into Mikey. TJ's dressed as Star Lord from Guardians of the galaxy. Mikey is dressed as Socrates, in an all white togo with high leg Roman sandals.

"So, uh," starts TJ. "Everyone's bunking first period to pull a prank or two. Lets see what all the hubbas about."

"No thanks," I reply, walking passed them to get to my locker.

"What?" goes TJ. "I know you don't wanna miss class but this is gonna be brilliant, just like the old days."

"Did I stutter?" I reply.

Mikey scratches his forehead as he says, "I don't think so."

"It's a rhetorical question, you imbecile," I say, getting angrier that I've missed the start of class.

"Hey!" Spinelli hollers at me. "You can't talk to Mikey like that."

"But it's perfectly tolerable for you to call him a big lummox and disparage him all the time," I fire back.

"I'm just joking is all," Spinelli replies. "I never mean it." Her eyes scurry across my face as if she can not recognize anymore. "Well, enjoy learning. We're gonna have some actual fun that doesn't involve reading a bunch of facts."

"You think that's all I'm good for?" I go. "I'm not a robot, I do have feelings you know. I'm not a human internet search engine you can just keep inquiring back to."

I gather up my textbooks and my experiment hypothesis briefs into my hand, slamming my locker shut. I leave them standing there without adding anymore to the conversation. I go the second floor to my lesson.

Now on the second floor I go inside my classroom for social studies. It should have started ten minutes ago but it's empty. There's a video on a TV playing a program on how products are made. Not even the teacher is here. On the chalkboard it has drawings of monster caricatures, and homework written on the board.

I leave the class and overhear some hipsters.

"I thought we decided together not to dress up this Halloween," says one of the hipsters to Deshay.

"Yezzir, but that's exactly what they are expecting of us," replies Deshay, dressed in a full skeleton printed shirt and pants. "If I venture on not being like everyone else all the time, then all that means is that I'm just like you guys. Its starting to set up a precedent. So I have to be like everyone else, so I'm not like everyone else. Do you get what I'm saying."

"No, not really," says another hipster, looking perplexed.

"That's an interesting take on the epistemological weighting hypothesis," I say. I'm met with blank stares. "You guys clearly knew that everyone was going to dress up today from Friendsite or something and you hate that they're doing the same thing. But in turn, not participating makes you hipsters follow each other by not wearing a costume. The only way Deshay can be an individual in your group is by being like everyone else."

"Do I know you?" asks Deshay

"Yeah, I'm—" I stutter, unsure whether Deshay is being sarcastic or not.

"A part of an entire sub culture of angsty teens that create a ridiculous, depressing melodrama around a little imperfection in their life," states Deshay.

A hipster looks back at me. "If we wanted an opinion from a dreary emo, well, I wouldn't, but if we did, we'd ask for it."

A girl beside Deshay stares at me and then back at him. "At least _she_ isn't dressed up like you said we shouldn't."

"Get over it," Deshay blasts back to his friend.

They all face away from me and go back and forth with each other.

I wander around the school. I make my way down to the first floor. People are rushing passed me with balloons full of something nasty I recon. Baby powder is being chucked around until it hangs in the atmosphere like snow. Toilet paper is being thrown over the balconies. Eggs are being thrown outside teacher's doors. Everyone is distracted. Pranks are being replicated by everyone it seems.

Deshay didn't even recognize me. Have I changed that much? I'm met with stares as I see the teenagers that look just like me. The darkly dressed teenagers of the school measure me up and look back at me as if they're looking into a mirror. An emo puts her hands into mines like a mime mimicking each others movements.

"Being an emo is a full fledged pact. It's not a once in a year dress up," says the girl, letting go of my hands, as she flashes her long black eyelashes at me.

Drake looks at me. "What if we said there's no way you can join us?" he asks.

I sigh at them. "Getting my hopes up is a waste of time anyway. High school is the same. Time flows through my hand like smoke everyday. I don't think putting my trust and energy into something or anyone that's just going to fizzle away into nothing in the end, is worth even caring for," I reply, in quick succession.

Another emo raises their eyebrows. "Good answer," he goes.

"Why are the hipsters giving me such a bad time?" I ask them, feeling frustrated by Deshay branding me into a group without letting me finish.

Chrystal steps forward and smiles. Chrystal is actually smiling. "What boulder have you been buried under? We never get along."

We share a mutual sulk with each other, hanging by generic motivational posters. It's clear that all the classes have been put on hold. Thaddeus seems to be quite tolerable to students abandoning their classes. Principle Prickly would not stand for all of this. We're leaning against the walls and the good side of me, my usual positiveness, seems to shrivel up.

"Everyone has chosen Halloween as the opportunity to get a jab at people," I say, watching the students going passed us. "What do you all really do?"

Chrystal motions at me. "Hating from a far is our usual deal."

Drake touches his chin. "No. I see where your getting at, Gretchen. We could do with disturbing authority even though its the popular trend. Got any suggestions?"

The emos and hipsters are too a like for them two to be hating each other.

"Follow me," I say.

When I say this, all nine of them go along behind me. It becomes more apparent that I'm not only more on their wave length but I'm becoming their leader. We go through the science section of classes, stopping outside of my AP science classroom.

"I hate science," says one of them.

"Really?" I say, opening the room door with the Dr Watson's spare keys. "I don't think science is something you want to be hating on when I'm in this mood."

I look back at the one who said it. He catches my eyes and gulps deeply. We enter the room. All the past experiments lie around just waiting to be used.

Drake looks around perplexed. "So, what are we gonna do then?"

I put on protection goggles and peel on some thick gloves. "Just do what I say, and maybe we'll break a few hipster hearts."

I set up the practicals I've always wanted to do. The room is misty and the atmosphere is scary like a graveyard. Flows of smoke go around the classroom when the reactions start occurring. Drake, Chrystal and four others hand me all the ingredients like my assistants. We make a dry-ice powered PVC gun cannon, manufacturing spare parts left by the tech kids. With whats left I make a dry ice bomb. It sits on the side like a chunk of the glacier with the potential of a small atom bomb.

Some of them from the group are keeping a lookout by the classroom window.

"Hey, you three," I say to them, trying to grasp their attention. "Find me some projectiles I can use on people. But." I don't want show too much malice and really injure anyone. "But don't have anything too big so it can't fit in the cannon and not too hard that'll hurt someone."

One of them taps their head in thought. "There's hacky sacks in the school's gym."

"That's perfect," I reply. All three of them just stand there. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go."

They finally leave for the ammunition for my ice cannon.

I slowly lower the dry ice bomb into a toy crate for Drake to drag. Six of us leave the classroom. I have the gun cannon by my side as we leave downstairs.

Handing over my gun to Chrystal I crouch by a vending machine.

"Would you boys mind?" I ask the four emo guys who are empty handed, as I motion towards the machine. Chrystal and I waiting on the side.

They push it until the power cord is being stretched and I'm adjacent to the back of it. I start rigging the machine, unscrewing it, and reprogramming it, enhancing it's limitations.

Drake moves back having helped push the vending machine out of place. He drops the handle of his crate. "What are doing now—?"

"Drake," interrupts Chrystal. "Don't question it, just go with it," she adds, winking at me.

I have been humble for too long. Being smarter and intelligently more superior should automatically give me the right to use anything like this to my will.

"Gretchen," says Drake.

"What is it now?" I ask, getting up.

It's the hipsters appearing on the other side of the hall. This is the large open area of the school where the balcony for the first and second levels are. The hipsters are all wearing Halloween costumes now. It looks like they've spent all this time finding, sewing and taking costumes from the drama class. Not to mention, the hipsters are holding balloons, cartons of eggs and slingshots. We stand against each other in a stand off.

The others run up behind me carrying hacky sacks in their arms. I narrow my eyes down at Deshay and he does the same. Taking a handful of hacky sacks, I take cover behind the vending machine. Eggs smash against the walls at us. Balloons burst open. The rest of us stand cover behind open classroom doors. I add ammunition in my gun.

I whip out the cannon and fire. Dry ice smoke puffs out as the sack hits them on the other side. They go down like dominoes. People have taken wind of this and have joined in. Maybe twenty against nine now, maybe more. Others throw textbooks, erasers, and just about anything they can, off the balcony. I've run out of hacky sacks.

"Anyone got a light?" I ask the emo kids, finding cover again.

Chrystal throws me her cigarette lighter.

"You smoke?" I ask her.

"No, mom," she replies, rolling her eyes. "Not until senior year. I just like the feel of one."

I chuck it at a startled Drake. "You see that hole in the ice bomb? Light it."

Drake takes the ice bomb and lights a fire inside of it. The translucent blaze starts heating up. Taking the toy cradle off of him, I drag it right in the middle of the battle field. I'm bombarded with some eggs and there's toilet paper falling on my side. I run back on the other side.

One of the kids laughs at us. "They're running away!" someone shouts.

I go back in cover.

Chrystal looks at me confused. "Er, and the point of that was?"

 _Boom!_ The magnesium reacts with the heat. Smoke blasts through the whole side of the school. A fog looms over everything. Everyone is hiding from the wreckage. Other people from school pop out to see what has happened.

Menlo, dressed as a zombie sheriff, comes our direction. "Whoa, Gretchen. So much for having an exemplary student record," he goes.

He takes out detention slips. I'll surely get detention now. There's no way I'm letting that happen. Some people are coming from behind us to see what's left of the dry ice bomb. I take my remote that I made, for the vending machine. I use it. Money starts spitting out of the front. Everyone darts for the money. Menlo is blocked off from getting to me.

"Lets split up," I say to my friends.

I'm with Drake and a few others going through the back of the first floor. There is no way Menlo can find me. The janitor goes passed me. He's wearing a yellow suit with a black tie, dressed as the Mask. His green mask almost infused to his face like the real thing. Either he is really good at dressing up as another person or he takes Halloween as seriously as we do. He nods and smiles at me. I do the same back.

We make our way to the second floor so we don't stay at one place for too long. Mid way the staircase we see Menlo. How did he get here so fast? The four of us look at each other.

"Every man and girl for themselves!" Drake declares, nudging me off balance, running back down stairs with the rest of them.

"Hey!" I say, standing still, caught in two minds of the big brain I already fathom.

Menlo looks saddened. "Friends always show their true colors when the feds come."

"They weren't my friends," I confess.

"So, where are they?" asks Menlo, handing me my slips. "Your real friends?"

He's still looking concerned at me.

"Why are you trying to act all concerned, Menlo? It's not like you care," I say, snatching the slips off of him.

"Be like that," moans Menlo, taking me by the arm. "We're all going through the same thing, but you can choose to be that way if you want. You think I don't wish I could have loyal friends like TJ, Spinelli, Mikey, Vince and Gus like you do?"

"Like I used to," I say, thinking aloud.

Menlo leads me back downstairs. From the looks of it, period one and two finished and right now it would be recess.

I've abandoned all my best friends. And for what? To hate myself and take my aggression out on other people. What have I done? Now my perfect student record is tarnished. My time at high school is in jeopardy. Worst of all, I lost all my friends who always look out for me. I have no doubt they would have stood up for me.

Menlo opens the detention door and leads me inside a white room. It's crowded in here with other people in school with too many to count and too many for them to all sit down.

"Look what the teacher's pet dragged in," Spinelli announces, crossing her arms, sat behind a desk.

"Spinelli, I didn't mean what I said—" I reply, in quick pants.

"Save it," she replies, unfolding her arms. "It's cool."

Maddie chuckles saying, "Hilarious, actually," as she waves at me to come over.

Maddie screws her eyes at a girl sitting beside her.

"What?" scowls that girl, now noticing Maddie's glare.

Maddie jolts her head at her making that girl jump out of her seat. With that, Maddie pats the now empty seat beside her. I sit next to Maddie.

Spinelli looks over at me. "You ditched us to pull pranks with the emo kids," says Spinelli, bending down her head with Maddie blocking her view. "We used to break up all the time at Third street. Like when we all wanted to be TJ's best friend or, I don't know, when you became friends with the Ashleys. We'd always forgive each other no matter what. I know at least I always will, because, to be honest, I've always been afraid sometimes, I'll, you know, lose you."

"What you mean, lose me?" I ask.

Maddie keeps darting her head emphatically each time Spinelli and I say something.

"You're like my best friend and I don't treat you, well, exactly that, like a best friend," Spinelli says.

"I've been pretty callous too," I reply. "I'm just trying to get used to saying no."

Maddie hugs Spinelli and I together. "Aww, that's so sweet, you guys."

"Well, seeing that we're cool again, I kinda need some help with my maths homework and I was wondering—" Spinelli starts.

I stare her down.

" _If you could suggest a good tutor_?" Spinelli finishes.

* * *

 **What have I become?** I can't become a bad girl through and through. It seems more enticing when I don't have to go through things like this. All that said, my finger hovers over the button on my phone's screen. Spinelli is calling me a baby but she has her sly devious grin the whole time. I can't go through with it. But for whatever reason, it's the prerequisite to do this. TJ, sitting further away on the desk, senses my anxiety and gives me a thumbs up.

"Just do it," encourages Spinelli, holding my phone with me. "Press it."

I click accept. My application has been updated. This is the first time I've ever downloaded newer iTracks without first reading the full terms and conditions.

"You see," says Spinelli, moving back. "Nothing terrible happened. The Peach cellphone police didn't bust through the windows to arrest you. You are now officially a terrible teen with no morals just like us. Heck, you proved that the other day, didn't you?"

"Thanks a ton, Spinelli. I feel egregious already—" I say, getting up from my seat.

"No no, Gretchen," says Spinelli, lowering me back down with her hand. "We're just getting started. Actually, on your feet, Grundler."

Spinelli raises her fists in front of my face. "First off, this is your equipment," she goes, now lowering them. "But there's no need to bruise up your knuckles and unload your anger on someone unless you wanna grow callouses. Secondly, don't take crap from anyone and that means anyone, even me, you got it?"

"Yep," I reply. "I understand."

"Thirdly," says Spinelli, now softening her eyes. "Being bad is a state of mind. It's knowing what you like, sticking to it and behaving badly when someone wants to question anything that you hold sacred." Walking to the library bookshelf she fiddles a books side. "You might have noticed I haven't really lashed out this year, but that's all right, you know. Anger ain't a good thing all the time."

"So it's about picking the right moment?" I ask her.

"I guess. There's more to being a bad girl than just running with your fists. Otherwise you're just a tough idiot asking for trouble. At least, that's what I learned from middle school. Not knowing whether someone is trying to be sweet or whose harassing you, in a language you're not familiar with yet, can make you look stupid. Sometimes I wouldn't know if boys we're flirting or asking for directions at first." Spinelli pauses, now settling her eyes on me. "You probably got no idea what I'm saying."

"Nope," I reply. "I know all too well."

Kumiko's altercation with Maddie comes back in the memory.

TJ comes up to us, his hands in his green hoody pockets. "You two finished up your girl chat?"

"Yes, I think so," I reply.

TJ and Spinelli say goodbye leaving together out of the study hall. It's the end of the school day after all. I make my way to the lockers in the hallway to get my textbooks for AP science. Sensing someone moving down the hall, I look out from my locker door. It's Vince walking down.

"Hey Vince," I greet, waving at him.

"Oh wow," says Vince noticing me, looking at me up and down. "You're back. I mean, to your old self again. I was gonna say more than just hello this morning but you seemed more happy again, so I thought I'll let you do your thing."

"I went a bit overboard," I say, looking down at my shoes.

"Yeah. I was mind blown. You didn't have to put all that on."

"The dark clothes and stuff, you mean?" I ask.

"No it was Halloween, everyone was dressed up in weird stuff. It's just that I've never seen you have make-up on before."

"Oh," I breath out.

"You're not Ashley, you don't need it," Vince adds. He looks to the side awkwardly and looks down on his bright yellow watch. "Shoot, I'm late for detention. I'll, er, yeah."

Vince continues down the hallway towards the room branded 'Detention' on the door.

What was that? Did Vince actually compliment my looks. Vince being popular really hasn't changed him at all. He's still sweet as always. I can't stop smiling.

I move down the hallway to go upstairs where the gym and upstairs almost meet. Drake stops mid stride at me.

I greet him, still furious. I want to just get to my class before I release any anger, but my mouth has other ideas.

"You left me for dead," I say to him.

"I don't think you got it when I said I hate myself and everyone," replies Drake shrugging, looking unapologetic.

"You should have helped me," I say, adamant that he cowered out.

"Don't," says Drake, shaking his head.

"Don't what?"

"Don't be a bad girl," replies Drake. "People need you. You're amazing. You have this sweet smart side that loves helping people and this bad-ass part of you that no one can mess with. Maybe if you can balance the two you'll be set."

"For the rest of the school year?" I ask.

"No. For life," says Drake, smiling at me.

Drake makes his way into poetry circle. Mikey greets me as he makes his way into the school gym himself. Geoffrey wiggles his eyebrows at me as he walks into the gym as well. Miss Rosemary gives me a little grin as she closes the door on me. I lean through the windows to see what the club on making poetry is like. It must be liberating creating a spoken word piece of work that you spend a couple days slaving over to perfection. It's not too different from making a scientific report, except I don't have to worry about making rhyming couplets.

Some students are now standing up and reading their poems aloud.

Lowering my head from the room's window, I make my way to AP science. I look left and right to see if anyone's looking. I take my skull necklace out and rub on it's ruby eyes. I tuck the emo chain back under my blouse, moving my textbooks tighter on my side.

What's my hypothesis to all this? I experimented whether a good girl can turn bad with myself as the subject. Certainly. I earned more respect from my best friends that took my help for granted but I learned what I'm capable of, and that I have to not blow out at other people's expense all the time.

The only thing harder than solving quadratic formulas, solving string theory, and finding cures for seemingly unsolvable diseases, is trying to find that one thing.

That one thing that makes you who you are.

Trying to just be yourself.

**[PLAY SONG "Nova Rockafella - Problem" AT THIS POINT]**


	7. Thanks for sharing

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 6

Mikey POV

* * *

 **"They say you can't pick the ones you love,**

Predetermined like the stars above,

But you went for that other guy instead,

To me you are like the stars in the sky,

Already dead,

So this is why I'm writing you this poem,

A story I'll leave with a twist,

I'll write it with a sharp razor blade,

I'll write it all on my wrists."

I applaud for Drake's poem, only then do the twelve other kids start to join in themselves. Although, awkwardly and very slowly.

Miss Rosemary's smile trembles. "Okay Drake, truly heartfelt, but please take it easy on the gore, not all of us can stomach your, er, anguish," she says, prompting Drake to take his seat again.

Geoffrey has fallen silent beside me.

"Who else wants to divulge us into their heartfelt sūtra?" asks Miss Rosemary, looking around the circle of students. Desperately seeking solace after another one of Drake's dark debacles. "How about you, Geoffrey?"

"Me?" squeals Geoffrey, pointing at his own chest. "Come on, Miss, I can't top that. Surely the only person that could give Drake a run for his money, would be Mikey-boy here. To be honest though it shouldn't even count. All of Drake's dollar bills probably have all the presidents with tears drawn on them—"

"Fine!" Miss Rosemary says, silencing Geoffrey. "Mikey would you please share with us?"

Trying not to scratch my forehead, I take my poem out and unravel it.

"If parting is such sweet sorrow,

Reuniting is yet more merry misery,

As hours continue to countdown for another tomorrow,

We get closer to our maturity,

It could be us arguing in a heated talk,

Or us laughing around together in doses,

Friendship stays strong as paved sidewalk,

But soft like sunflowers, bushes and roses,

Friends won't let friends go it alone,

Protest to each other in a quiet shout,

All that fight I might not have shown,

When darkness makes it seem the light won't come out,

If I have to solve the method to all this madness,

It would be to take the beautiful with the sadness."

The classroom echoes with snaps of their fingers.

"Ahhh, delightful, Mikey, as always. Exceptional use of oxymorons," says Miss Rosemary with her palm to her chest. "Seeing as thanksgiving is almost here, I'm assigning you all to form a piece of expression for everything you are thankful for." She hands us all A4 sheets of paper. "And of course it needs to be more complex than just family, friends and a puppy. Make sure you really, really, get to the tofu meat of what makes you feel grateful."

Poetry circle ends. The pushed off chairs leave the circle into an uneven oval shape. We make our way out of the gym. Geoffrey takes a scrap of paper from his pocket and throws it up at the basketball's back board. I hope he didn't just chuck his poem away like that. I say goodbye to everyone. I wait at the door for Geoffrey, whose looking a bit bleak for a second.

We go up to the first level outside the science labs. Gretchen almost always finishes her AP chemistry classes, the same time I finish poetry circle. It's like clockwork.

"You didn't have to skip yourself from reading your poem like that," I tell Geoffrey, whose looking blankly on the side.

"Yeah well, it's over isn't it?" goes Geoffrey, taking his back off the wall. "You are so good at poetry, I wish I could really express myself like you."

"I don't do anything differently than you do," I reply.

Geoffrey frowns unconvinced and pays attention to the classroom door that's just opened. Some tech kids and other students come out. One of them of course being Gretchen.

Gretchen does a high five with Kumiko as they trade some science talk that just goes by me. Gretchen notices us. "Guys. I love how you're always here without fail," she says, smiling.

Geoffrey's face changes to a grin. "That's not true, I got an F the other day but you just have to bring that up. That's pretty inconsiderate of you."

I turn to Gretchen. "Is the get to together at TJ's still on?" I ask her, scratching my forehead, a bit more vigorously this time.

"Uh-huh," Gretchen replies, fixing up her bag. "If you don't get offended Mikey, I have a good course of action to treat your spots."

"I always thought my break out was to do with my obsession with Winger Dingers and my addiction to other chocolate confectionary?" I spiel.

I wonder what weird and wonderful things Gretchen has in her bag to treat my spots. Maybe its a cream, or something to do with chemicals? A laser gun, perhaps?

Gretchen closes up her ruck sack and throws it around her shoulder. "If you use the sauna by the school gym, it will not only clear your pores blocked by a buildup of oils and dead skin cells, but it can also help you reach a healthy weight."

"It's a thought," I reply back.

We make our way out of the school together. Gretchen departs and tells me she's going to go straight home to embark on her latest experiment. She leaves us. Gretchen has more of a bounce to her step. I'm just glad that she is more upbeat right now.

I walk my way home with Geoffrey.

"So," I say. "What happened today?"

Geoffrey laughs a bit. "It's not like I threw up in my mouth a little bit per se, his poem just, surprised me."

"Well, everyone reacts to break ups differently," I reply.

"A razor blade, Mikey," says Geoffrey, stopping still. "On his wrists."

"Yeah, I know."

We make our way up to my house. I'm home. I gallop to the kitchen, where Mom is in the middle of preparing something to eat for later. I peck Mom on the cheek, and raid on whats little that's there in the fridge.

"Lamb-chop, remember you have a visitor," Mom says.

"Mom. It's not just for me," I say, my eyes screaming at Geoffrey for help.

Geoffrey walks backwards. "I'll just crash in your bedroom," says Geoffrey exiting to kitchen, ignoring my plea.

"Why do you have to embarrass me like that?" I ask Mom.

"Mikey baby, you're going to need to talk to your dad and invite him to thanksgiving on Thursday night," she says.

"Why can't you do it? Why do you two have to act so childish?"

"Why? Because I said so. Your father is just a doe-eyed, irresponsible little idiot. I've had enough of him," she says, ceasing to cut her onions on the chopping board. "All that junk food is gonna ruin your appetite."

"My appetite's already ruined, but by a different nature," I say, cupping the snacks in my shirt and out the kitchen.

I spread all the snacks on the dining table, because what's the point arguing with my mom about the practically non existent connection between eating upstairs and attracting ants? I set up the food, as well as the marker pens, colored paper and the assignment sheets on the dining table.

I go to my room. Geoffrey's not there. He left the TV on, playing some jarring sitcom. It's fairly well good looking Twenty-year-old something actors pretending to be high schoolers, randomly breaking into song and dance. I change the channel. Now it's some sitcom where friends are talking about relationship problems or something, from the looks of it. They pause unnaturally between sentences as the laugh track is played.

I push my keyboard forward and take some new notepads and sticky notes from behind it. I leave my room as the ghost audience canned laughter echoes down the staircase. I look through the house and take the path to the garden. There he is, looking down at a grave I made a long long while back.

"There's no inspiration inside," Geoffrey explains, still looking down at the pebble rock and dirt.

"So staring at Stella, is the answer? We can just figure out some free form stuff, some soliloquy stuff, some stuff-stuff," I suggest, taking a seat on the garden's moldy bench.

"It's just," starts Geoffrey looking back at me, "Mikey, I'm—"

Geoffrey stops like a broken vinyl record.

"You're what?"

"It's just, you loved this cat so much and then she just, died," Geoffrey finishes.

"It was no surprise really. She gave life to kittens behind a dumpster, remember? We had a small time together, and that was that. I gave her a home, gave her a bath, but she still passed away. My parents swore I needed a rabies shot. She was the only pet I'll ever truly cherish. Thanks a lot for reminding me of such a sad moment I tried and failed at repressing," I say, smiling back.

"No problem," smirks Geoffrey, looking back at me.

* * *

 **My mind wanders in folly under the most shadiest of trees.** There's something I'm supposed to be doing today, I just can't remember what it is. My writing has filled every inch of my notepad. I'm gonna need a new one, or maybe I should just get a bigger notepad. Vince is back to his unstoppable best. The cheerleaders prance away with routines, spelling out letters with their arms. I get up, on pursuit of my friends. I'm sure they'll be together in study hall. Maybe this time around we won't be so dependent on Gretchen. I make my way as I brush off the fresh grass stains on my shirt.

I gotta stop losing track of time.

"Mikey!" I hear my name from a crowd of cheerleaders near the bleachers.

Ashley T parts away from somewhere within it. She looks back at her friends, who are muttering something, and then jogs my way, then looks up at me.

We exchange greetings.

"Your dancing was divine out there, it was really something," I say, messing up my compliment.

She seems to really have come together seamlessly with the others, since Spinelli and I helped her.

"I was just thinking, if you wanted to like, do something together after school?" asks Ashley T.

"Sure, I guess," I say, shrugging, scuffing my notepad in my pocket. All those scribbles give me a bad look, I must seem like a crazy person. As I say this, the cheerleaders talking begins to increase and their giggles get louder. "I'll ask my friends what time they're leaving so we can all meet up."

"Oh," replies Ashley T. She shakes her head. "Yeah, uh, that's sounds so super chill, 'kay, after school then?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay. Late," she says. She returns back to her friends.

That's nice of her. It's like she's had a sudden mood shift and has left that Ashley snobbiness behind her. The more the merrier when it comes to socializing with new people I say.

I say "Hi" to the different communities in the school as I make my way inside the hallway. Both the hipsters and the emos acknowledge me, which is great, but I just wish that they could be more peaceful with one other. I don't wanna have to break apart any more quarrels. All I hear is "conformist" and "poser" being thrown around as they go about in a barrage of verbal altercations. The tech kids and wall street kids are at it as well.

Kumiko goes over to Fingers Maloy. "Where's the free stocks you promised me?" she goes, with her hand out.

Fingers stretches his neck. "Extortion ain't a good look for you. You don't think we don't know you guys hacked our servers just to fix it for favors," he replies.

Kumiko frowns. "You'll know all about extortion, wouldn't you? You preppy wash out."

"Whatever," Finger moans. "At least you finally moved on up from that sweat shop to the techno lab."

"That's a genre of music not a type of laboratory," Kumiko sneers, with clenched teeth.

They square up together. I step up and push them away from each other. "You two really should consider being friends when you guys could really need each other," I suggest.

They both look at me like I'm talking another language.

Kumiko shakes her head, looking at Fingers. "I don't how many times I have to tell you, it's not us sabotaging your—"

"Lies," says Fingers, walking away. "Lies Kumiko!" he says louder, parting away.

Kumiko looks at me and walks off herself.

I don't know if I even helped or made things even worse. Oh well. Heck, it's not like the United Nerds are gonna get in the way and help unless somebody asks for it.

I have to do my part. Anything for the cause of peace.

The hallway has become a lot more congregated. Study hall awaits. In my locker I remove all my stored Winger Dingers that have melted and chuck them in the nearest bin. Making my locker more of a home.

I get to my friends who are standing further down the hallway.

"There he is," announces TJ, upon my arrival.

Gus looks shocked at me. "Why didn't you tell us you're going out with Ashley T?" asks Gus.

"What?" I reply. "That's not true. It must be some rumor."

"Mike-ster," says TJ, holding my shoulder. "We're not saying it's a rumor, like when you supposedly pushed a boy in the girls bathroom. It's fact, like those historical dates I keep forgetting in my history class."

Spinelli smiles. "Ha, nice one, Teej," she says. "All the Ashley's are pairing up with boyfriends before the year's over. It's a powderpuff happening."

Maddie chuckles. "You hear the jaws music, TJ?" asks Maddie, tying on new ribbons in her hair. "Ashley A's real fond of you."

Spinelli looks uninterested. "TJ would never go out with Ashley A, ain't that right, Teej?" goes Spinelli.

TJ screws his eyes, it looks like he's thinking in deeply.

"Teej?" repeats Spinelli.

"Hmmm?" hums TJ. "She is well off, right? I mean, think of all the privileges I could get. Not to mention all the free food, games and on demand maid service. I've always wanted to be referred to as Master Detweiler."

"You can't go out with her, all right!" Spinelli shouts.

We all look a bit stunned at Spinelli.

"Do _you_ wanna go out with TJ?" Gus asks, and silently, pretty much all the rest of us do as well, as all of us slowly pan our heads at Spinelli.

"Get off my back, four-eyes, before I break your face before your glasses hit the floor," Spinelli threatens, grabbing Gus closer to herself by his shirt.

The football players stroll our way, with Vince and that snarky guy Troy he always hangs out with. Troy to me, seems like a much more rough rouser version of our TJ. Troy walks up to Spinelli, whose still holding Gus.

"No, young Shrimpy," says Troy at Spinelli. "Sensei say, hold dork on collar lapel straight, avoid strain on wrist." He continues sounding like an old master. "Kamiza Ni-Rei." He bows to her, holding his right fist in his palm.

Spinelli lets Gus go, as the football guys presumably make their way to the gym. "Shut up, Mad," she says to Maddie.

Maddie didn't even say anything, she just smiles at her. "You know why he calls you Shrimpy, right?" asks Maddie to Spinelli.

"Cause I'm on the shorter side," replies Spinelli, all matter-of-factly.

"That too," says Maddie. "It means your H, O, T, hot. He finds you attractive."

TJ flexes his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Well, actually he only likes you from the neck down, so called, cause with shrimps, everything is good but the head part. Although, he's contradicting himself cause the other day he said Shrimpy implies he wants to have every type of making out kiss with you—" Maddie gossips.

"An oxymoron?" I ask.

"Probably," replies Maddie to me. "Like the french kiss, butterfly kiss, lizard kiss, eskimo kiss, sideways Senior Fusion kiss, lip gloss kiss," she rambles.

TJ puts his hands out. "Erm, Maddie could you—" he warns, as we can see Spinelli is getting more and more enraged.

"Hold on, TJ," says Maddie holding a hand out. "And all this is supposedly some random reference of how Bubba from this film wanted to make every type of shrimp. Damn, what was that film again? I've never met anyone so devoted in re-arranging words and their meanings. Ahh man, T-Rex the Slangasaurus."

Spinelli whose been bottling up her anger goes up to the crowd of boys. We go after her to stop her from doing something she'll regret.

 _Wham!_ Too late. Spinelli smacks Troy across the face with a punch.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" is being chanted throughout the hallway.

Spinelli's holding Troy down on the ground. It takes Vince and I to take her off of him.

"Let me at 'em! Let me go!" Spinelli wails, with just me restraining her now.

Troy gets to his feet with a shake of his head. "I like when girls hit on me, but this is _not_ what I expected," Troy says, holding his eye.

"What's the name of that damn film?" repeats Maddie to herself, who had completely ignored the fight.

"Forrest Gump," says Gus to her. "It's a classic."

I guess Spinelli can't find light in Troy's quite, dare I say it, pretty clever double entendre. Although, I can understand her frustration. Troy seems to be complimenting Spinelli's figure when it is quite clear she's not particularly developed as much as Maddie is, for example.

Oh, how a comment of such subtle sincerity can become such a soul tearing remark.

* * *

I'm now at my Geography class. Mr Crowhurst's monotone voice drones on and on like a A-sharp B-flat note. A couple of students in front of me are clever enough to put their comics and magazines inside of their textbooks. I wish I would have thought of that. Lessons go so slowly I swear that the time on the clock moves backwards. I can't remember when the class even started or when it's ever gonna end. The passage of time in a classroom is a lie. Staring at the wallpaper of the map of the world, I can see a million other places I'd rather be.

"Aaaaah!" comes out of the hallway.

"What in blue Macaw was that?" goes Mr Crowhurst.

Everyone in class wakes up. Screaming and rustling is coming out the hallway. People start running out of the class in excitement. With the door open, there's students from other classes coming out as well. Our teacher fails to get any of us to calm down. I stay at my desk as the class keeps emptying and what appears to be a fight just outside gets louder. I get up from my seat. I might as well.

"And where do you think you're going?" asks Mr Crowhurst.

I look around at the empty classroom. "Sir, everyone else went," I say.

"Yeah you're right, its too enticing," he replies. "I haven't heard animalistic sounds like this since venturing in the Amazon. Try to stop some of the students from wandering off, if you can?"

I nod back to him and walk out of the classroom. Looking down from the banister, the noise is coming from down below. There's a clear view of two girls tussling over each other or over something. I make my way downstairs.

There's chants of "Fight! Fight!" just like before study hall. Over the crowd, I can see Maddie grabbing another girl, pulling her hair, going back and forth making the crowd in the hallway move in sequence. With a struggle, the girls topple to the floor as the chanting gets louder and more pumped up.

"What do you say now, huh?" I can hear Maddie taunt, trying to grapple the other girl on the ground.

"Miss Feldman, that's quite enough," says Miss Rosemary, trapped behind the crowd in front of her classroom. She looks over at Mr Foley whose leaning against the lockers with his hands in his jacket. "Mr Foley, aren't you gonna step in and intervene this?"

Mr Foley lazily cups his hands over his mouth. "Stop it, please. Break it up, you two," he whisper-shouts, so no one can hear him, in a way like he just doesn't care.

I part my way through the crowd. I'm glad that my height has it's advantages. Why must girls as beautiful as they are, partake in such a barbaric gladiator spectacle? I try to step in but I feel a hand stop me by my chest. It's Troy with a black eye.

"Hold on, Mikestro," says Troy, with a fresh shiner on his eye, holding his phone out, recording the fight. "It's just getting good."

I push Troy's hand away. Pulling the girls apart, I hold up Maddie from behind and drag her away from the other girl. She is much more heavier and from the looks of it, more violently unpredictable than Spinelli.

"I'm totally sorry for the bust up, but you should let go of me," pants Maddie.

"Violence should never be the answer, it just leads you to a treacherous cavern of hate. Give me one good reason I should let you go?" I ask.

"You're touching my breasts."

I immediately let go of Maddie as she straightens out her cheerleader skirt.

"It was a joke," whimpers the girl Maddie was fighting. "Cheerleaders are not all airheads, all right?"

"Shows over people," says TJ, throwing his arms out to a grown of dispersing people. "Hey Mikey, lets go, there's like zero minutes of class left."

As TJ says this, Gretchen, Gus and Geoffrey come in sight. Spinelli laughs hysterically, resting her head on Maddie's arm, shaking her head in disbelief. My best friends come together around me, talking between each other.

Ashley T comes over to me. "Thanks for giving me a chance to hang out with you today," she says.

That's it. I have to talk to my dad about Thanksgiving. That's what I was trying to remember, or maybe, it's just what I've been putting off until now.

I apologize to Ashley T, saying I have something I have to do. Reaching my locker, I take my bag out. Sheets of paper fly out and on to the floor.

"You all right?" asks TJ, picking up the paper. "Whatever it is, you can talk me."

"Thank you TJ, it's just something I have to do on my own," I say.

"All right" says TJ, walking backwards towards everyone. "You're still coming to mines on the holiday, though?"

"I don't know!" I shout back, as TJ goes back to the commotion that just died down.

"Great! Remember it's gonna be three or four-ish!" TJ shouts back, probably not hearing what I said.

I take my work from today and scuff it all in my string bag. I go out of the school and walk by the Express bus stop. I look up at the final destination. River City. It's gonna be a long bus journey to get there. I wish I could have the super powers the Peanut Butter kid had when he was able to get there and back in a flash of a second. That would be something.

* * *

The bus is now going slower than a snail's pace. There's people shouting outside the bus blocking it from going forward or even backwards. Signs are thrown in the air and chants are being yelled. The bus takes an emergency stop and the door swings open. I walk out to the crowd, who simply ignore me and keep marching forward. There's large buildings and skyscrapers. I get a real closed up claustrophobic feeling. In the distance is the big statue of Freedom. I'm here, for the most part.

"What do we want?"

"Our fathers and boys back!"

"What do we hate?"

"All the humanity we lack!"

Moving through the city, all the cars have been moved to the side and the traffic has jammed completely. Some yellow taxi cab drivers stand on the roof of their cars with given-up defeatist expressions. It's a beautiful protest from the sounds of it but I need to see my dad. I take my phone out, looking up the map Sat Nav app. I don't know where the Liberty Center is. He's supposed to be there. At least the free WiFi couldn't be any faster. I wait for the blue arrow icon to stop still so I can tell where I need to go.

I look up from my phone trying to get a grip of everything. Wait. I know her.

"Miss Grotke?" I go, seeing her march by me with a picket sign in hand.

She moves her head to the side, screwing her eyes through the crowd. "Huh? Mikey? Mikey!" she shouts in delight, parting through the protesters.

Miss Grotke looks shockingly the same. Her black hair is still curly but as she gets closer I can see the feint strands of grey in them.

She looks at me in bewilderment and then smiles. "What are you doing here?" she asks, adjusting her round glasses. "Oh, right on, you must be here to fight for freedom of oppression too. Where's your picket sign?"

"Um," I say, putting my phone back in my pocket. "I don't have one."

"Come. Follow me," she says, going straight through the people again.

She goes up to some protesters who are sitting on the side. She takes a seat on a park bench. Pieces of wood, cardboard, paint buckets and brushes lay on the table and on the grass. Miss Grotke hands me a paintbrush and a blank sign. I can't think of anything.

In the corner of my eye I see him. He walks up to the bench hugging people and picking up more signs.

"Dad!" I say to him, hugging him before he could leave again.

"Mikey you're crushing my appendix," he says, his feet off the air.

"Sorry," I say, letting him go.

"Thanks for treating us all with your presence, son," he says, straightening out his usual hippy style waistcoat.

"I haven't seen you in forever," I say frantically, failing to keep my excitement bottled in. "Mom asked me to ask you if you'll—"

"Hold that thought, Mikey," Dad says, going on his tippy toes as he pinches my cheeks. "This day has taken an unbelievable turn, my son has fled the nonsensical government fueled life and is following my footsteps. I need to introduce you to my comrades. This is Arthur." I shake hands with a short black haired guy writing signs. "This is Marcus DeRuckus." I wave hello to a man who, in turn, gives a peace sign. "And of course you know Alordayne," he says, side hugging Miss Grotke.

I write on my picket sign, 'Hear our one voice. Freedom's not a choice.' I hold it prominently as I notice I'm able to hold it higher than anyone else.

Marcus DeRuckus scratches his shaggy hair, looking up at my sign. "This can't be your first peace rally?" he goes.

Dad looks over at my sign and then at Miss Grotke. "You must be proud at guiding my son to become another hungry humanitarian activist."

Miss Grotke notices too, smiles wide and hugs me. She's almost teary eyed. We follow the crowd that hasn't ceased as they continue walking up the blocked out roads. We march up to the Clock Grid where all the advertising is. Its the middle of the city. The flashing images of trademarks, new movies and products are shown out here. There are adverts showing Martian Piss soda and trailers for Honorable Hombre Señor Fusion 2. It comes to a halt when the other side is blocked by large tanks. An officer stands on a podium with a loud speaker in his hand.

"I'm giving you people two choices!" he shouts from his podium. "No one will get arrested if you all go home! Otherwise I'm forced to restrain all of you!"

Someone from in front of me shouts back. "Like you did to our boys? Bring them back home for the holidays!"

I turn to Dad. "Who's that officer guy, Dad?" I ask, lowering my sign.

Dad looks away concerned. "You might know him already, actually. Lieutenant Griswald," he explains. "He's holding all the soldiers back in conflict instead of letting them see their families on Thanksgiving."

I look over at Miss Grotke, who shares the same disappointment. Good grief, Gus' dad is inhumane. How could he do this, on probably the only time people get to see their families?

Miss Grotke gets pushed away from me, as she lets out a little whimper. A camera and a bright light gets shone in my face. I think I'm being recorded. A news reporter moves up right next to me.

"This is Mort Chalk," he says into his foam microphone. "Here we have one of the younger protesters who is against the countries war efforts. Do you believe you are delivering your message to the masses about the war on terrorism?"

"I think so," I reply, with the microphone pushed into my face. "All we really need is to stop war all together, you know?"

Looking off the camera, Lt. Griswald comes off his stand. He walks our direction with angry protesters trying to speak into his ears. He shrugs them all off.

"That's enough," Lt. Griswald says, in touching distance to the camera as Mort Chalk moves his mic to and fro between us.

"It's more like, that's enough of the war against defenseless people who just want to live in peace," I say back, as the cameraman changes his angles.

Lt. Griswald laughs. "Are you naive or just stupid?" he goes. "The middle east is where probably every weapon conceived in mankind is sold and dispatched from."

Miss Grotke buts in and points her finger at Mr Griswald. "There were no weapons of mass destruction found at all, if I'm not mistaken. I taught your son Gus. He should enlighten you himself," she adds, backing away and now holding my hand.

Lt. Griswald looks back at us looking quite annoyed. "You have your job, I have mine. And mine, little lady, is to get the traffic back up and moving again in River City. Move back before I have to use force, and believe me when I say, I will use force."

Dad, whose so much shorter than him, moves up into Lt. Griswald. "Listen here, you army buff. This is my group with a message and a mission. We will not cease and we will not stop until we get our boys back home."

Lt. Griswald sighs and turns back through the crowd. "Push the tanks up!" he orders.

The crowd starts to retreat as the tanks move us back up through the street. I hope all of this wasn't done in vain.

"This is Mort Chalk. Big Story News. Back to you in the studio," says Mort Chalk quickly, as he signals the broadcasting to turn off, with a swipe to his neck. "Thank you so much for this, Mikey was it?" he asks me, waving his crew team to move back.

I nod back.

"It's been a slow week, better yet a dreary month," says Mort Chalk, handing me a small white card. "Here's my business card. Call me if anything juicy and exciting, like what happened today, comes your way."

* * *

 **I flick my pencil on my desk thinking of words that rhyme with love.** Troy hugs Spinelli in front of everyone in tutor class. Spinelli stands static still sulking. The class start laughing. Mr Dude initiates us all to clap at their truce. Spinelli pushes Troy off as they then hit a high five, as she creaks a little grin back at him.

TJ has been really quiet. He's looking intently at Troy and Spinelli who have not only apologized but are sharing some kind words with one another. I don't know what they're saying, with the whole class talking. Troy holds Spinelli's hand and from the looks of it, he's reading her palms. He's tracing his finger through her palm making her laugh again. TJ and I catch eyes. TJ looks around frantically and then stares straight ahead at his desk.

Maddie leans on my desk looking all in to my notepad. "Whatchu writing?" she asks.

"Just a poem," I reply, trying to hide it with my hands. "It's not finished."

"Is it for Ashley Tomassian?" asks Maddie.

"It's not for anyone yet. I dunno."

Troy looks over. He snaps my notepad off from my hands, skimming though it. "Wow. Hey Mikey, you're really talented," he says.

Ashley A shouts at Troy. "Hey, lemme see?" she asks, throwing her hands out.

Maddie winks at me. "It's for Ashley T, ain't it Mikey," she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Ashley A catches my notepad from Troy. Reading it to herself, she squeals in excitement. "Ah, she'll love this," she sighs.

I look back at Maddie. "Maddie. Why did you do that?" I ask her.

"Come on, Mikey," replies Maddie, patting my shoulder. "You'll thank me one day."

Tutor has come to close as the bell rings for the first lesson. Spinelli shrugs off Troy and grabs Molly as a human shield as she begins to start chatting to her about something.

* * *

It's English class now. I can't think of anything. Of the work today, sure, I have a bunch of interpretations but that's not what I feel like doing. I'm next to Spinelli who has shown more of a spark of interest in literature. I don't know if that's cause I influenced her or anything.

"Can anyone summarize Pride and Prejudice?" asks Miss Schwartz.

The class stays silent. What if the poem I write doesn't rhyme at the end? Would that still count? What if it's not a poem at all? It has to be a form of expression. I can't live up to the name as the first school districts poet laureate if I can't do this.

Miss Schwartz ignores Spinelli whose stretching her arm up high. "Anyone? Anyone at all?" Miss Schwartz asks, snapping for life from anywhere else in the classroom. "All right, I concede Spinelli. How would you encapsulate Jane Austen's most famous piece of literature?"

The class seems to get excited and gear up when Spinelli begins to start.

"Well, it's old and junk right? But, well, it's not even a love story really is it?" Spinelli says.

Miss Schwartz covers her face. "And how do you reach to that conclusion this time?" she asks her.

"Well, this dude Mr Darcy is a total jerk, like a bad guy wrestler. Then there's this dudette Elizabeth whose taking no crap from him. Her and I could deffo get along."

"Don't you think they'd be suited to one another because Darcy's pride and Bennet's prejudice, the differences which they share, is what make them compatible?"

Spinelli pauses as if she's found her match. "Well, no," she replies.

Students in the classroom laugh.

Spinelli will never agree in anything love related.

Miss Schwartz back tracks. "Okay, how would you prefer the book to have ended instead of them getting married?"

"She hits him around the head with a steel chair," Spinelli replies.

"Ah, there you go," says Miss Schwartz, clapping her hands. "Metallic folded chairs weren't made fashionable until the 1920's."

"You see, Miss," goes Spinelli. "That's the problem."

English class finishes and I leave to go to the lower hallway to get to my locker. I undo my padlock and whip my door open. Pieces of paper fall out of my locker yet again. I can not get organized properly, but that's not my style anyway. Not to mention my poetry gets affected when I take time to prioritize everything. Menlo took care of that notion in Third Street. Ashley A's still has the poem I've been working on all week. I have no time to start again from scratch. It feels like no inspiration can hit me no matter what.

The school's janitor sweeps my paper to the side and away from the students with his broom.

"Hey!" I say to him, trying to pull his broom away. "That's my poetry you're pushing away."

"What?" the janitor goes, looking down stopping. "Doesn't look like poetry to me."

"That's cause it's not finished," I say, picking my work up.

"Nope. Sure there's writing on it, but what good is it on the floor written on some paper?" he asks, still not helping me pick them up.

"I'm reading it out loud in poetry circle after school," I say, standing back up with my work clinging my chest.

"Right. In front of twelve people. Riveting," he says, wiping his hands with a cloth before looting inside of his shopping cart of a trolley. The janitor turns back to me with a mad expression. "Wasn't it Oscar Wilde that once said, art should not be taught in schools, and that it's what one looks at that makes them the artist?" he asks.

"Wow. Oh yeah, he said real schools should be the streets. Only with play equipment and no traffic," I say. I said the same thing to Miss Finster once. "Well, there's not really play equipment anymore, but sure, I see your vision."

"It's the controversial methods in art that makes a difference," the janitor says, throwing a sheet off the shopping trolley he was pushing. It's full of cans. "Take this trolley for example."

"Yeah, what about it?" I ask, looking at it.

"No, take it," says the janitor, pushing it at me. "If you use these spray paints to write your poetry on the side of the school then it will deliver your message to everyone, and not just a mere number of disciples sitting in an already abandoned basketball court."

"Okay, I will," I say, pulling the handle of the trolley in front of me.

"Really? No second thought? Any doubt at all?" asks the janitor. "Um. That was easy."

Maybe this is the motivation I need. The form of expression that sets a higher bar for my alliance at the poetry circle. No one would have thought of this. New material is already coming to me.

We are mere mortals in this wild world. Were combat holds our love from being unfurled.

Spinelli comes our way with a screech of her boots. "Hey Mikey, we're gonna be late, not like that matters, but I'm not going anywhere near that white padded cell of a detention today."

The janitor sees Spinelli and gathers up his things. "Remember what I told you," he says, moving away from us.

Spinelli taps me on the side. "Who's this?" she asks me, looking at the janitor.

"Oh," I reply. "Wait up," I say, jogging up to him. "This is the janitor, I don't know his name."

"And my name's irrelevant," he replies to us.

Spinelli goes closer, turning the janitor around, looking up into his face. "Hold on. Hey, I know you," she says.

"No you don't," he goes in rushing pace, dragging his broom with him.

The janitor guy leaves, with a trolley full of spray paint just left for me.

"Where do you know him from?" I ask Spinelli, whose standing there rubbing her hair underneath her woolly hat. "You know, he does appear around the school sometimes."

"No. That's not it," goes Spinelli, looking down the hallway as he disappears. She rummages through the trolley at the cans of spray paint and chucks them back in. "Maybe I've met him before when Joey fixed his car up or something."

* * *

So it's study hall now. I get a gentle rumble in my pocket, it looks like I've got a text.

'Geoffrey: We gonna meet up 2 our usual spot to spitball and give each other critique?'

Putting my phone in my pocket, I decide to take up Gretchen's idea. I leave the hallway and go through to the basketball court where I would usually stay after school at the poetry circle.

I head into the gym. There's a room labelled 'sauna' with steam clogging up the door's window. I waltz inside. The heat in the sauna is all vacuumed packed like a bag of chips. There are pebbles, wooden stools and a cloud of a mist is settled in the air. There is someone else in here in just their shorts with a towel over their head.

I take a seat. What am I doing here? I should be trying to perfect my poetry or at least starting it over.

"Why are _you_ up in here?" asks the person at the higher level bench.

He takes his towel off from his head to reveal Vince. I was asking myself the same question.

"Gretchen's idea," I reply. "She thought my spots could go if I used the sauna."

"Really?" asks Vince, getting off the bench, staring at my forehead. "Oh, I didn't even notice you had that. You're not supposed to keep your shirt on in here man, you do know that?"

"I'm a bit, just kind of a bit, self conscious so if you don't—"

"Oh man, sorry," says Vince, sitting beside me. "You'll sweat into your clothes."

"I didn't think it through," I say, looking down at my drenched shirt.

"Don't worry dude, I've got you. I think I have some spare working out clothes in my gym locker. If you don't mind wearing a Thaddeus jock sweat shirt."

* * *

I make my way to history class in new clothes. A purple warthog polo shirt and jogging bottoms to be specific. Getting inside the class, I get the odd glance here and there from people who have already found their seats. I smile and greet them back. I've got nothing to be embarrassed about. To be honest, it's the most color coordinated I've been, well, ever. I take a seat next to Gus as Spinelli looks over me. She takes a chair, spins it around and sits down looking at me.

Spinelli screws her nose and smiles at me. "Is there something you're not telling us, Mikey?" she asks.

"No. Why?" I ask. I look back at the other people looking at me and then back at her. "Is this about Ashley T? Because I really think that's been blown out of proportion."

Gus nudges me. "You're just wearing the school colors is all," he says.

Mr Saxby reaches our table handing out our group report on American War. Spinelli picks it up and raises her eyebrows at it. She looks back at us. Her expression, although looking surprised, still looks unreadable.

I look at her. "How did we do?" I ask.

"Well," replies Spinelli, with a pause. "You can't get higher than an A plus, can you?" She drops the report to show that very top grade she mentioned staring back up at us.

"Yes," says Gus, clenching his fists above the table to his chest.

I pick up the report. "Well done, friends," I say to them two.

I'm having a look, but as I skip slower through the pages I can't see anything I wrote. There's Spinelli's part and the majority of Gus' input, but my whole page on the importance of world peace and unity is not there.

"Erm Gus?" I ask, looking more thoroughly. "I can't see my part where I talked about the negative aspects of war."

Spinelli bugs her eyes at Gus. She blows through her cheeks and navigates on her phone underneath the table.

Mr Saxby, now at the front of the class, turns towards us. "Well done, everyone. The majority of you have done yourselves proud," he goes.

Gus gets towards my ear. "I'll explain what happened later," Gus whispers.

"No!" I say, louder than I wanted to. "I don't get why you had to take out _my_ part. I worked really hard on it."

Mr Saxby looks over at us. "Is everything all right back there?" he asks.

Spinelli hides her phone in the rolled up part of her woolly hat and spins her chair around. "Yeah, everything's A okay back here," she answers back.

I stand up from my chair. "We're a team. We're best friends. How could you do this?" I ask Gus.

Spinelli raises her eyebrows as now everyone's looking at us. "I, uh, retract my last statement, Saxby," she adds.

Gus shrugs. "Come on, Mikey. I can't add that mushy peaceful stuff, plus your handwriting is really really good. Its too hard to read so—"

"Oh, okay," I say, motioning to sit down. I move back up looking down on Gus again. "Mushy peaceful stuff?" I ask.

Gus stands up. "Mikey, your main jist was that we should not have war at all. That's just nonsense. A lot of people gave their lives for the independence of America."

"Even now?" I ask. "When we have all the power we could ever ask for in America. We're prioritizing on taking over the helpless when we should use the money to help those people."

"They're bad people," says Gus.

"Have you met them?" I ask. "Or is it because your militant dad said they are?"

"Hey, don't talk about my dad," argues Gus, looking up at me and then moving his eyes away.

"I don't think we're ever gonna agree," I sigh.

Spinelli moves her mouth in thought and turns to the teacher. "Is this gonna affect our grade?" asks Spinelli.

"No," replies Mr Saxby. "Can you two take your seat, please?"

"Righteous," says Spinelli, taking her phone out again.

Gus and I take our seats, looking straight forward to avoid each others eye contact.

"Miss Spinelli, phone away please," orders Mr Saxby.

Spinelli drops her phone.

* * *

 **Grandma goes straight for my cheeks and squeezes them until I think my head is gonna pop.** I smile and take it. I open the front door wider and step back as Grandma, my aunt and my little niece, Phoebe, can now make their way inside.

"Hows my favorite grandson?" asks Grandma.

Her only grandson.

"I'm grand, thank you," I reply, rubbing my stinging cheeks.

"Ah, it's so comforting hearing that etiquette of yours," Grandma says. "Boys your age have no respect at all."

"Not really," I mumble back.

Phoebe hugs my legs. "Hi hi Mike-see," she says, looking up at me.

Phoebe must be five by now. Or six. Well, she's definitely not seven. Her long red orange like hair are like my mom's.

My Aunt greets me with a kiss on each cheek. "Phoebe, let go of Mikey," says my aunt. She looks at me. "You won't mind keeping an eye on her?"

I look back. "I don't see any problem with that," I reply.

My grandma and my aunt make their way further inside to the kitchen where I hear them embrace with Mom before they shut the door. Looking back down at Phoebe, I wave at her and go upstairs. She keeps close to me as she crawls up the stairs. We get to my room.

"Ooh. Why is your room all pretty and blue-y?" squeals Phoebe, looking around the room.

"It's just cyan," I reply.

Phoebe looks through my belongings. I get back to my passage that I've almost finished writing. Two more lines to round it off and it will sound beautiful. Phoebe jumps from my bed and rifles through my things. She stops and looks up at me. She must be realizing I don't have nearly enough things for her to mess up.

"Where do you keep your toys?" she asks.

"I grew out of it," I reply.

The doorbell goes off again downstairs. I keep my poem close to me this time in my pocket. I answer the door. It's Dad. He's with that protester I was introduced to in River City, Marcus.

We greet each other.

Mom comes out from the dining room and looks at the two guests.

Dad motions his hand with Marcus and he hold hands with him. "I hope you don't mind that I'm going more unorthodox and not covering our trails," says Dad to Mom.

I stare back at Mom whose eyes look like their welling up with so much suppressed emotion.

She smiles at me. "Could you put out the cutlery, Mikey?" Mom asks.

Mom avoids my dad's advances of a hug and goes upstairs herself.

I go to the dining room. There is so much food set on the table. More than probably a typical family would have. Every inch of the table has an excessive amount of mash potato, casserole and vegetables. A big space in the middle is vacant where the turkey is going to be set.

I get inside the kitchen to retrieve some knife and forks.

My aunt turns to me. "Phoebe being a Little Miss handful, yet?" she asks.

"No," I reply. "I love her company. Honestly."

"You _are_ allowed to tell the truth sometimes," says my aunt.

I smile and nod. I leave the kitchen and lay down all the utensils and stuff.

I go back to the living room. Phoebe's back downstairs and she's preoccupied with two little green dolls. What? Why has she got two of my Bonkey dolls? Didn't Mom get rid of all of those? She's spinning it from their tails, dropping them on the ground on purpose and pulling their little dinosaur ears.

I can't stop myself.

"My Bonkeys!" I say, taking my two dolls away from her, cradling it and then stroking their ears.

Mom comes back with arms on her waist. "Give them back to her, please," says mom.

"She's gonna ruin them," I protest, holding the dolls close to my chest.

Dad snatches them away from me. "You don't have that Bonkey fever again, do you?" asks Dad.

"I hope you don't," says Mom. "We had a lot of explaining to do, setting up your tenth birthday party with kindergartners."

"No, but she'll—" I say stopping, looking at Phoebe's saddened face. "Sorry Phoebe."

Mom and Dad share a laugh at me. Marcus gets next to Dad and Mom lets out a wince. Phoebe takes the Bonkeys once again and hugs them tight.

Marcus joins in. "See, she loves them as much as you do," Marcus goes, patting me on the shoulder.

"That's enough," says Mom, stroking her hair in hard motions. "If everyone could get to the dining room?"

Everyone leaves and Mom turns to me. "Take out the turkey from the oven, okay? My Little fudge brownie?"

I walk towards the kitchen and stop. "You're _calling_ me a fudge brownie and not _asking_ me to take out a fudge brownie, right?"

Mom smirks at me. "Not unless you want to have dessert first, honey."

I'm not exactly like Spinelli who does that, although, I've been hungry enough in the past to be able eat them both together before.

I take the big turkey and rest it in the heart of the table. Everyone has found their seats. Mom at the foot. Dad at one of the sides next to Marcus. There is an empty seat next to Phoebe that I guess is where I'll be sitting. I find my seat. I encourage us all to hold each others hands as we create a connected hand hold with each other. We say a quick grace. With a head nod from Mom, I slice up the turkey and give a section on each plate.

"So," says Grandma, eyeing up my Dad and Marcus. "Are you and Marcus friends or business partners?"

Marcus looks over at her. "You could say we're civil partners," replies Marcus, tapping my Dad on his arm.

My aunt pauses with her arm stretched out for the vegetables. "You mean in the civil service?" asks my Aunt. "Cause I've been looking at changing careers."

"Well—" starts Dad.

"Yes they do," Mom interrupts. "Mom would you like more potatoes?" Mom goes to Grandma, whose hovering the bowl to her.

Grandma puts her hand out. "Stop distracting me dear, you want us to take interest in you and your husband's livelihood and not just because I want to visit my favorite grandson," she says, smiling at me.

Dad and Marcus look at each other confused.

Phoebe drops my dolls on her lap. "Can we do what we're thankful for now?" Phoebe asks.

Dad looks back at all of us. "Marcus and I have something to share too."

Mom buts in again. "No. I think we want to hear what you have to say Phoebe," suggests Mom.

Phoebe looks confused. "I wanna hear Uncle first," she says.

"Me as well," says Grandma, wiggling her fingers at Phoebe and looking back at my Mom. "Stop acting so uncivilized, honey. That is quite the opposite of what Reuben does for a day job."

Dad clears his throat. "I've found someone that means the world to me. I have been in a relationship with Marcus and I wanted to share our love with you all today," he says.

"What?" goes Grandma.

"Dad?" I ask.

"Eeew," laughs Phoebe, as my Aunt taps her for speaking out. "Does that mean Mikey has two daddies?"

"Uh—" I say at Phoebe, and then back at Dad. "Yeah, does it?" I ask him.

Dad doesn't say anything. I look over at Phoebe who has both of my male Bonkeys pressing faces, making them look like they're kissing each other.

Mom hits the table. "Reuben! You have to destroy everything!" she wails, with her voice sounding weaker. "Quitting your job for your pointless protesting, leaving me with all the bills to pay and now you have to embarrass me in front of everyone."

Marcus speaks up. "I was hoping my new family would accept us for who we are, right Mikey?" he asks.

I don't say anything.

My aunt comforts my mom and turns at Marcus. "I think you've done enough," she says.

The dining room falls silent. Dad's honesty has split the table. The food in front of us is slowly getting cold. My appetite can not fall any further.

Phoebe tilts her head in thought. "Can you get pregnant like a mommy?" she asks Dad.

I shake my head at her. "No Phoebe, it doesn't work that way," I explain to her, comforting her little shoulder.

Mom reveals her head from crying. "You don't love me at all do you?" she asks Dad.

"I do, but not in that way," he replies.

I turn to Dad. "Does this mean you're not my real dad?" I ask.

"I _am_ your dad, Mikey," replies Dad. "Your mother and I met in college and what we had was, it was, um."

"A lie," my mom adds, finishing his sentence.

"Yeah, it was," Dad sighs. He turns to me. "I think your mom knew subconsciously but went along with it anyway because she felt like she wasn't particularly, you know, she felt like she was not conventionally attractive as most girls in college."

Grandma looks at Dad. "You've messed up the children's minds. I should have known from you two's fine howdy doos with each other."

"No," I say. "They haven't messed up our minds."

The table erupts with back and forth arguing. My mom storms out. Phoebe and I are in the middle of all this. I'm all for peace but I have no expertise on relationship problems. Maybe I can't help people all the time, especially when they do this to themselves. Everything doesn't make any sense. Screw this family quarry. This has turned into a pantomime really quick.

* * *

I leave the family to fight amongst themselves. I don't want to be the good Samaritan resolving other people's problems anymore. I'll let fate do the dirty work. Phoebe and I walk down the empty streets by ourselves. There's hardly any cars going passed. Everybody must be inside for thanksgiving. What Phoebe and I should be doing. Phoebe left one of the dolls behind and is only carrying one Bonkey.

We walk up to TJ's house. I ponder on ringing his door bell but I don't want to disturb him and his family. We continue around to the back garden. The gate is slightly ajar. Going through, the back of his house is a bit larger than mines, and his tree house stands there prominent in the middle.

I hear the open and closing of a sliding door.

"Mike-anator, you're early," says TJ, coming through his screening door.

Behind him is his family looking at us, still eating their lunch.

"Hi," says Phoebe.

"Howdie," replies TJ, looking back at her.

I introduce TJ with Phoebe. She immediately loses her attention and runs to TJ's treehouse. TJ and I look at her as she tries to get to the top.

TJ looks straight ahead. "You might wanna make sure she doesn't hurt herself," he says.

"Right," I reply. "Okay."

"Gimme five," says TJ, as he turns to the screening door, then looks back around at me. "Actually, make that ten."

I make my way up into the tree house. I open the latch and enter inside. Phoebe's in the corner acting more behaved than she was when she was in my room. The best friends clubhouse looks the same. It has old assignment briefs of pranks we used to do. There are Kazoo instruments laying on the side. A yellow robot toy on a slab of wood. A dart board with darts still on it from a previous game. The periscope still pokes from inside and back out of the tree house like a chimney binocular. Random Maniac man comics are scattered on the red and blue rug in the middle.

I look through the periscope. It's still pointing towards Third Street school.

"Mike-see," says Phoebe, pulling my shirt, tearing me away from the periscope. "Why don't you have one?"

"One of what?" I ask.

"A house in a tree. It looks so fun."

"I don't know," I say, shrugging.

TJ comes up after a while, still finishing off munching something. He puts a half chewed bread roll into his pocket.

"Well," sighs TJ, dragging himself up from the bottom latch. "The famous treehouse is still standing. Somehow."

"It looks exactly the same," I say.

"It does help when its been unoccupied for so long," TJ replies.

Phoebe stands up. "I'm hungry," she says.

"What?" asks TJ. "Haven't you two had anything for thanksgiving yet?"

The wooden lever opens up again. A girls head pops up from the beneath. It's TJ's sister Becky. "Hey you loser, you're not allowed to have the get together this early," she says.

"It's an emergency," says TJ. "Mikey needs me."

"Whatever," says Becky. She notices Phoebe. "Aaaw, and who is this little girl?"

Phoebe greets Becky.

"Erm, Becky?" I ask. "Would you look after Phoebe? I wanna talk to TJ in private."

TJ smiles taking his bread out and eating it whole. "Yeah," scoffs TJ with his mouth full at Becky. "Finally put you in good use."

"Shut up," says Becky to TJ. "Phoebe. You wanna see what real makeup is like?" She leads Phoebe out of the tree house. There's a little silence before Becky pokes her head back in. "You owe me, dweeb."

TJ closes the door as Becky ducks back down, leaving us two alone.

I explain everything that happened at my thanksgiving to TJ.

"So your dad just plainly said out loud to everyone that he's gay and he's always has been?" asks TJ, ruffling his messy hair.

"Mhmm," I reply. "Right when we're contemplating saying what we're thanking for."

"No way. Well, there's hardly a perfect time to come out. But if there was ever a time then, hey, during thanks in thanksgiving probably takes the cake, or the turkey, or whatever."

I smile at TJ who looks astonished. "Please don't tell the other yet."

"No of course not," replies TJ.

The wood latch smashes to the base of the treehouse. Someone's hand feels inside. The sound of laughing and panting gets loader.

Spinelli reveals herself first. "Hurry up, you pansies," she says, with her attention back down the tree.

Gretchen emerges next, then it's Maddie, Vince and Gus.

The treehouse is pretty much full right now. There's a suitable amount to maneuver everyone though. Vince collapses on the rug on his back. Breathing out with a huge smile, his belly button peaking out from his shirt.

Spinelli gets towards TJ. "How do you still have bed head in the middle of the afternoon?" she asks TJ, trying to tame his hair with digs and pulls from her comb.

Vince, still laying on his back on the rug with his belly sticking out, murmurs, "I'm stuffed."

Maddie chuckles at Vince. "You're telling me. You look more stuffed than the turkey I just had," Maddie says, giving him a little kick to his arm.

Gus looks over at Vince. "You think its a good idea eating that much when you're supposed to be getting in shape for football?" Gus asks him.

Spinelli buts in. "Who are you Gus? His coach?" she asks.

"Ugh," groans Vince, getting on his side and then going back down again, giving up. "I'm carbo loading."

Gretchen straightens her glasses and sits near Vince. "What you had probably would have more protein than carbohydrates," mentions Gretchen. "It still positively effects your anabolism, though."

"Uh-huh," says Vince, getting up finally in a sitting position. "Case and point to Gretchen."

I look over at everyone, who have now made themselves at home. "Everyone have a good lunch then?" I ask. Everybody nods except for Gus. "What about you, Gus? Did your family celebrate with love, food and togetherness?"

Gus doesn't say anything and looks away from me.

Spinelli slaps her hands and jerks her head. "Come on," she says. "You two still beefing?"

"What?" asks TJ. He turns to me. "You and Gus have a falling out?"

Maddie cracks her neck and stretches her waist. "Not if I can help it," says Maddie. "You two are gonna hug and be merry whether you two like it or not."

Gus shakes his head looking down. "Maddie. Don't," he says.

Maddie navigates on her knees towards Gus. "If you don't think I'll pin you down and fart on you until you say your sorry, then you're barking up the wrong treehouse," she says.

We all share a good laugh. Even Gus and I let our guard down. Maddie's right. Plus she can be very violent and shrewd sometimes. She's the wrong person to argue with.

Gus raises his arm out for me and I shake it. He lets go quickly. Gus whips his hand away barely making any contact with me.

Spinelli laughs. "What was that?"

"Yeah," says Maddie. "Troy and Spinelli had a better truce than that."

Maddie crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at Gus.

Gus and I hug. Our chests close together. Both of our faces facing opposite directions. I pat him on his back a few times. We hug longer than what's necessary. We let go.

Spinelli coughs. "No need to show too much affection, guys. It might spring up into something more," she says.

Not like there's anything wrong with that. But that brings my dad's reveal straight back in the memory.

I look over at TJ as he gives me an encouraging smile. He must of caught on to what that must of sounded like. TJ's such a good friend for keeping to his word and staying silent on what happened for me today.

The conversation changes.

Gus puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles.

I look out through one of the small windows of the treehouse as the sun goes down.

Bright blue vanquishing into an alluring orange.

I know what to be thankful for, I just hope my family work out what is as well for themselves.

* * *

 **I destroy my origami flower with my hand into a squashed up dreck of trash.** Spinelli takes it off my hands and plays paper football with TJ on her table. The class is finishing off their usual breakfast Mr Dudikoff bought us. Brownies, muffins, croissants, the lot. It's not like its his job to do so, it's probably frowned upon. It doesn't stop him from feeding us.

That's why he's the dude.

Tutor class finishes.

I go through the hallway where there is the usual hustling and bustling of everyone. Geoffrey comes up to me. We both hail how good the morning is like usual. Geoffrey is more buzzing than he was earlier in the month.

"Can I ask you something really random?" asks Geoffrey, stopping me by my chest. "I'm being solemnly honest here. I just want to know how you feel on something that's kind of controversial, something kind of different—"

"What Geoffrey?" I say, to make him get to the point.

"Would you feel the same if someone you knew for a long time turned out to be gay?"

"Did you talk to TJ?" I ask him back.

"No," he replies.

"Oh," I say. "Love is such a sought out expression that everyone deserves to have and not everyone is fortune to get. What shape or form its consorted into doesn't matter."

"That's great, because—"

"But Geoffrey, that's a sensitive subject for me right now, okay?"

I leave Geoffrey and back out through the school to the parking lot. The trolley the janitor gave to me is still parked in between two teachers cars, where I left it. I take the cloth off to reveal the spray cans. I should be going to first period. But my heart is not in it. I should be wearing a mouth guard. But Dave the Digger would have those and he didn't make it to Thad High. I take the trolley and go to the side of the school's wide wall.

I take a spray can out and shake it up. The tiny security camera on the top of the school swivels downwards towards me. I wave up at it. I spray.

I am thankful for nothing,

For sure I thank the shores and the air I'm draped in,

Relatives I reside with, friends I learn with,

But what use is it when any resolution is a race uphill?

A gun exchanged for flesh, A child's life traded for less,

I can not relate to my other half, Or sell magic beans for a calf,

I'm not sure with their sores they can breath the air they're trapped in,

I am thankful for nothing,

 _Mikey._

* * *

I go through to the cafeteria. It's already congregated with everyone else from school. I think everyone's seen the poem by now.

Menlo comes towards me. "I loved what you put, Mikey. Its going to tear me apart to—"

I takes my detention slip from Menlo, cutting him off mid sentence. I get to the end of the queue and get my lunch tray. I look up at the ceiling. I don't think recognition is the be all and end all of my ambition to be a bard minstrel. I'm definitely more liberated when I'm breaking the rules.

A hand slaps my arm. It's Gus.

"Mikey, you're letting people get in front of you," says Gus, motioning me to move forward.

"Oh, yes," I say, making my way up to collect some food.

We move up the lunch line. I'm more lenient with what I put on my tray. Gus is telling me something or other about our classes. On my side I can see Troy. He smiles at me. I think he's gonna attempt to cut-and-chat, but he's probably gonna get away with it.

"Mike-machine," greets Troy, pushing Gus across his face to get next to me in line.

Gus is shoved to the side. He reaches for his glasses. He tries to get back in after losing his place but some tech kids, hipsters and a cheerleader force him to the back of the line.

I stare back at Gus and then at Troy. "Hey, that wasn't very nice," I say at Troy.

"Huh?" Troy goes, turning around. He continues picking his food under the sneeze guard, but does it all backwards as if he's moon walking. "Shout out for protesting against the war against my homeland the other day. I saw you on TV," explains Troy, completely ignoring me. "That's why I had to push your friend to the side. I put two and two together. His dad's Lieutenant Griswald, right? Like, how are you two even friends if you protest against war and Gus is probably raised up by it?"

"I, uh, whoa. I never thought that our friendship could be in jeopardy by what our beliefs are," I say.

I grab some peas, french fries and I almost miss my last chance to cram morsels of chicken nuggets on to my tray.

Gus. Alas, I hate the thought that something as trivial as what our stance is on whether the war on terrorism is a good idea, depends on whether or not we can be friends.

I tap Troy on his arm as he reaches the end to the lunch lady. "How was your thanksgiving break?" I ask him, trying to change the subject.

I'd love to know what a normal family's get together sounds like.

"My family doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving," says Troy, smiling back at me. "My people celebrate something called Mehregan instead. And yeah, if I had to pick," he adds, ripping a straw out and popping it in the side of his mouth. "I'd rather fast on the day of the Native American holocaust, so I can binge out on Santa's birthday, you get me?"

"Yeah," I say. "Sort of."

He has to be joking about Santa, right? I stopped believing in Santa at a late age, but still.

Troy pats me on my stomach and walks to a table as he finished pile on his food. That's odd. He didn't pay for his lunch. It's not like anything gets passed the lunch ladies. Maybe none of the jocks who have scholarships have to pay. That clearly doesn't apply to me right now as the lunch lady waits for me to pay for what I got. I dig in my pockets and give her the total of my meal.

I step out from the end of the queue. I look for the table with my best friends. I can't see them anywhere. Although, it is really crowded around TJ and where he is seated. There's probably zero way of getting to sit beside him. Every type of kid from school is sitting and standing around our usual table. Emos, cheerleaders, jocks, wall street kids, some from the UN, smart tech kids and that hipster Deshay. Vince is there and Troy just joined in beside him. So is Maddie and Ashley T. There's no Gretchen or Spinelli at all, though.

What's going on? Does this mean the school's changing? That the groups that once separated each other apart from a dam of detachment, have now found similar ground, so now nobody will ever feel isolated like they're drowning alone again?

I go towards TJ's table.

**[PLAY SONG"Tropics - Rapture" AT THIS POINT]**


	8. The biggest detention ever

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 7

TJ POV

* * *

 **"…And then Santa Claus tells the Elves, 'That's no abdominal snowman, that's my wife,'"** I say. **  
**

Everyone sitting and standing around the table laughs, well, except for those depressed emo kids, who just nod in approval.

"You should do stand up for the high school talent show, I mean, my band's gonna shut it down obviously, but we can do with some comedy," says Deshay, cutting his pizza into sections with his knife and fork.

I shrug. Mikey makes his way and tries to sit on the edge of the table. People move along the bench seats one after the other to make space for him.

Spinelli comes closer with a huff. "We've only been gone a measly millisecond, and you're already replacing us," says Spinelli to me, arriving with her lunch tray. She coughs loudly at Deshay but he doesn't notice. "Hey, if you don't want me to leave you with a right eye blue for real, scram will ya?"

Deshay is startled, then he surrenders to her the seat opposite me, in a scared act of chivalry. Spinelli's threats never get old and I love how imaginative she gets with each one. Seeing as Deshay is wearing his red and blue 3D glasses, it's almost genius. Spinelli could ghostwrite taunts for wrestlers.

Gretchen follows up, now sitting next to Spinelli. "Very improbable, we'd have to have gone here and back in a thousandth of a second, Spinelli," says Gretchen. She turns towards me. "But you certainly have enough people to deputize in place of our absenteeism, TJ."

The crowd around me disperses back to their own tables, until it's just the cheerleaders, Troy, and my five best friends. Ashley A scoots over next to me. Spinelli and Ashley A exchange looks. Spinelli narrowing down her eyes, with Ashley A squinting back.

Maddie barges in. "Awww," she says, putting her arms between Ashley A and me. "Ain't this nice." Her arms hugging around both of us.

"Yeah, it's about as nice as a tit punch," Spinelli moans.

"Hmmm, funny," Ashley A says. She stares down at Spinelli's front. "It's not like that can apply to you."

Spinelli crosses her arms across her chest quickly. All eight cheerleaders giggle in unison, except for Ashley T, and Maddie who has let go of me and Ashley A. Gus looks away scratching his hair. Gretchen looks down at her lunch tray. Vince and Troy exchange looks with each other.

Mikey looks along the lunch table at us all. "Come on everyone," he says, "let's all be amiable here."

"Sure," Spinelli goes.

"Totally," Ashley A replies.

"Swelly," I say, trying to pep everyone back up. "Let's all just, you know, just try and be how we were in Third Street."

"Teej," goes Spinelli, making a screwed face at me.

"Okay, bad example," I reply.

* * *

The ordeal of fifth period algebra is over. People from class start leaving and that's when the classroom actually gets lively. The wall separating algebra and economics falls down a slit in the ground. It reminds me of a secret lair, when the wall turns 360 after you pick a certain book out of a shelf. The black banners around the top edge of the ceiling turn on, showing the school stock exchanges. I head to the section where the Wall Street kids were standing in the economics classroom, to see how well my stocks are holding up.

"Alert!" Fingers shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. "The wolf of Third Street approaches," he adds, directed at me.

The other Wall Street kids give me welcoming looks.

"Aw, shucks," I reply, shaking Finger Maloy's hand. "I don't know what it is. I fail algebra, but I'm a rain-man in economics."

"It's not like mixing letters and numbers together is relevant in real life," Fingers says, prompting his friends to move along since they're all trying to sell their stocks to me. "Before you know it, you'll be in the 1%, just like Principle Third."

"I can see that," I say, stroking my chin. "It's just, I kinda have a problem of getting too power hungry, so yeah, in other words, holding back helps the high school economy."

"The fire's there, that's all I'm saying."

My pocket vibrates.

'Vince LaSaslle: IM SO PUMPED! I'LL MEET U AT THE GYM.'

I leave the Wall Street kids and meet up with Vince at the gym section of the school. Vince has finished work up a sweat and is in his green Pagans basketball vest with a towel around the back of his neck. We clap are hands together like paddy-cake paddy-cake, then reverse slap on the back of each others hand.

"No," says Vince chuckling, as we're still handshaking. "We knuckle touch, then we slap into a tower."

"I thought it was tap, tap then slap," I say, starting the handshake over, as we eventually, alternate moving the hands upwards.

"Forget it, man, we have the rest of our four school years to figure it out," goes Vince, as we give up the greeting completely.

We walk through the school gym. I'm guilty of not being in here before. Most of the team jocks say "Hey!" and "Sup!" to me. The room is lined up with mirrors, treadmills, pulley machines and weights on racks.

Vince uses his towel and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

"You wanna try it?" asks Vince, looking at the pull up railing and then at me.

"Sure, maybe next time," I reply.

"Teej, come on, just try it. I'm here if you want someone to spot you."

"No, I think my doctor says it's not good for me," I lie, as I see Vince look unmoved. "I twisted the refibrillator in my right rotator cuff." I move my right shoulder around.

"I'm impressed you know what a rotator cuff is, but I'm sure one of those wasn't a real word," says Vince, raising his eyebrows. "Please, just three pull-ups, and, I'll, never ask you again. Promise."

"Fine."

I take my snapback hat off and put it on the seat of a nearby weight machine.

"Wait, I'll take that," says Vince, taking my hat and putting it on the pile with his jacket. "You don't want a sweaty butt all up on that."

I reach my arms up and jump on to the pull up bar. I miss. I try it again, till I'm hanging on to it, with both of my feet above the ground. Vince is right beneath me.

"Okay, now think of it like a push up, but with no ground as if you're trying to, look over your neighbors fence or something," Vince prompts.

I pull up, or at least try to. My arms aren't bugging. My face is getting red hot. I didn't know anyone, like me, could ever be so heavy.

"One," says Vince. "Half of one?" says Vince again, unsure.

"I can't, ugh, I can't do it," I say. I let myself go from the bars, land back on my feet and start massaging my wrists.

"No worries, man," says Vince, measuring me up. "Erm, so, yeah, so as you can tell, I'm still buzzing, cause today's the day."

"What'chu talking about?" I ask, getting my hat back from off his clothes pile.

"It's December fifth. Mr Dude found a loophole and I get to miss detention today."

If that's so, then, everyone's free after school.

"Ten-der."

* * *

"What's wrong with you?" goes Spinelli at Troy, as her and Gretchen help up Gus.

"I'm joking, I'm joking," Troy replies, having just tripped up Gus for no reason.

Vince nudges me on my side. "Whats wrong, man?"

"Oh, nothing," I reply, fiddling with my firecracker I bought from a store and a cigarette lighter an emo had lent me. "I think these firecrackers are duds."

Maddie comes up closer beside me. "Let me try," she says as she takes my lighter and puts it up to the fuse.

Mikey catches up to Maddie. "Be careful," he warns.

Maddie makes it catch fire. Little glittery sparks come out of it's little red tube. She throws it on the ground. Nothing happens. "I think you got ripped off, TJ," Maddie says. She hands me my tiny sticks of dynamite back.

Troy gets shunned by Spinelli as he goes over to Kelso's with Molly and Gus. The rest of us go inside the Quick-O mart for are usual pick of spoils. Spinelli and Gretchen are talking about something or other to Sue Bob Murphy, whose behind the counter. Maddie and Mikey are in aisle three, debating over the best snacks to chow down on. I have a red cherry flavored slurpo and Vince has a green lime one. We go out of the store, open are lids to mix are cups together half and half, making two colors in each of our cups. Vince and I lean against the glass wall of the store.

I stare up at the 'No Loitering' sign.

The door jingle rings and Spinelli walks out. "I don't think that'll apply to us," she says, looking up at the sign and joining us by the wall as well.

I put my slurpo drink down beside me on the ground, and put my hands in my pockets. "This is the life, aye, guys?"

"Yeah," replies Vince. "Nothing but hanging out and spending time with the best people in high school."

Maddie is already half way outside the store with Gretchen and Mikey. " _You are_ including us when you say that?" she asks Vince, giggling, leaning with the other three on the other side of the door.

"So guys," I start, pulling my head across so I'm talking to everyone. "I have a few ideas on pulling some operations around the school, you know, get some walky talkies involved and assigning some code names."

"Nah," Mikey sighs, "do we need to?"

"What?" I reply.

"I think what Mikey's getting at," Gretchen explains, stretching her neck out to see me. "Is that it was admirable back in Third street when we were fighting against the oppression of Prickly, but now it just seems unnecessary when we have everything we want."

Spinelli taps Gretchen's arm. "You're right, I actually like it in high school," goes Spinelli. "Although, if it involves making the Ashley's cry, then I'm all in."

Maddie smiles wildly. "I think I already beat you to it when I scrapped with Ashley A minus," she goes, slapping hands with Spinelli.

Troy comes out of the corner store dangling some licorice into his mouth.

"Hey Troy, what do you wanna do?" I ask him.

"I wanna get back at Chucko, by breaking into his school, stealing his stuff, and beating him into submission," Troy replies.

Everyone falls silent, except for Maddie who laughs out loud. "I think that's a bit OTT. What did he ever do to you?" she asks.

Vince mumbles, "long story," as he continues sipping his slurpo not batting an eye at Maddie.

Molly comes out of Kelso's with a big grin pulling Gus by the arm, who still has his apron on. Old man Kelso sticks his head out, looking annoyed and a tad peeved off. We catch eyes. I raise my slurpo cup at him. He smiles back at me, nods and goes back into his store, with all his anger now erased off his face.

He must be remembering our chat from last summer about losing contact with friends.

"If he really needs you Gus, then where is he?" Molly asks to a frantic Gus, hugging him from behind. "So what does everyone want to do?" she asks, now directed at all of us.

Spinelli sighs, "We're still working on it."

Troy, now finished with his candy, throws his wrapper on the ground. He puts his arm around Molly saying, "Señorita Crayon, lets get our cray on."

I don't know what Troy's saying. I look over at Vince, who just shakes his head at me, with an expression like, _I don't know either_.

Troy takes Molly off of Gus and as he leaves he ruffles Gus' hair. Vince and I go towards Gus to give him some moral support. I greet him with a soft slap on the back. It's clear he still likes Molly. I pull my firecrackers out again and just decide to light up each one, maybe I'll get lucky and find one that works.

"I haven't missed much have I, Teej?" asks Gus, staring at what I'm doing.

"Huh? Oh, not really. What's it like working for Kelso?" I ask back, lighting up all of the firecrackers at once, fed up that I bought defected ones.

"It's-just-work, TJ, those are safe, aren't they?"

I'm about to say "yes", when the fireworks hit the ground with a _bang!_ The little sticks all light up, crashing and ricocheting around Gus' feet. The crackles bounce off the ground making Gus lift his camouflage cargo pants and shoes away from the explosions.

Vince bursts out laughing. "Hey, that's messed up, Teej."

"I'm so so sorry, Gus," I laugh, with Vince making me drop my guard. "I guess they do work after all."

"I asked you if it was safe?" stresses Gus, kicking the remains of it away, when it dies down. "First firecrackers then napalm."

"Look Teej," Spinelli says, parting away from the girls. It doesn't look like she's caught on to what I just did. She pulls me over to a side. "I had a talk with Gretchen, and I think there's no need for us looking for trouble any more, okay?"

"I guess you're right," I reply, flicking the cigarette lighter and looking at the flame.

"If anything pops off, anything at all, we'll be ready for it."

I nod back and smile at Spinelli. She's right. A couple months ago I'd never figure I would reunite with absolutely everyone I wanted to. Christmas is almost here, even though the weather doesn't show it, but that's Arkansas for you. I guess, appreciating our time right now together is the most important thing.

A few cop cars start to drive slow across the parking lot. I can hear their radio's awful scratchy sound of it's service between some officers talking.

We decide to motor to the mall.

Gus has joined us and has taken his work apron off. Troy and Molly join us six, with Molly returning back to Gus' side, leaving Troy looking confused. Troy goes to Vince with Spinelli by me, till we're all walking together. We take out the whole sidewalk.

The new gang now seems official.

This moment feels like it could last forever.

* * *

 **"Middle school was just a blip Teej,** everyone's practically riding your johnson now," goes Spinelli, as we take the last turn into school.

"I'm not feeling it," I reply, jumping onto to the curb. "I've got a different calling."

"I'd nominate you and I'm sure the whole gang will too, so that's eight already," Spinelli assures.

"TJ!" I hear from behind me.

I turn around and it's a cheerleader. Robyn Shepherd. I wonder what she wants. It's not like I really talk to her at all. She still has her red hair as puffy as it was from the Third street days. She was the first girl to turn my recess into a manhunt when she said she was actually flattered by my funny valentine card.

"Hey TJ!" Robyn goes again. "You really going to set a bomb off today? You bad boy."

Spinelli buts in. "What are talking about?"

"Yeah, what are you talking about?" I ask as well.

"It's all around the inter webs this morning," Robyn explains, pushing her phone up to my face, as I'm forced into seeing a closeup of her text conversation.

"I would never go that extreme," I reply.

"I know, that's what _I_ said," Robyn replies with a nudge. "I think that's going way too far, but then again if it's done by _you_ then it will definitely be funny, well, see ya when I see ya."

Robyn leaves grinning at me and goes back up to the path towards school.

Spinelli screws her face up into a flirty smile. "Oh, if it's done by _you_ TJ, then it will _definitely_ be funny. See what I mean?"

I rattle my brain from thinking what it can be like being class president, to what Robyn is going on about with me planting a bomb.

We turn into the school.

I smile.

Spinelli's jaw drops.

The statue of Thaddeus Third the fifth outside school is wearing teenager clothes. Jeans, a jive T-shirt and everything else you'd find one of us to wear is wrapped around the life size bronze figure of the principle. On the top of the school there's a large banner that reads, 'GO BALL HOGS! Keep calm and pass to Vince.' The bus sign at the front is changed. The yellow diamond caution sign is three times bigger and now says, 'SLOW CHILDREN play here and don't read.'

Even I'm surprised how much I can accomplish when the janitor lets me in before school starts.

Spinelli now turns at me. "This is _your_ doing?" she asks in delight, now joining with everyone's laughter.

"Well, I can't exactly slow down on the pranking, Spin," I reply.

"You're still so childish and crazy. I love it," goes Spinelli, shaking her head.

Spinelli and I walk into the school. There's holly along the top of the walls. A big Christmas tree at the front with comic books on the bottom where presents would be. I don't think anyone has even noticed that all of my pranks have barely begun.

"Teej, how did you find time to do all this?" asks Spinelli.

"Time isn't really a factor when you want to give a little holiday cheer," I reply, resting my arm by the water fountain. "Maybe you should have a drink?"

"Do you think I'm stupid and I'm just gonna fall for the oldest trick in the textbook?"

"Trust me."

Spinelli looks at me suspiciously and steps back from the fountain. People are finally opening their lockers to see the presents I wrapped up and left for them.

CJ Rottweiller comes up to me. "Thanks TJ," she says, with the present I gave her in her hand. "Can I open it now?"

"Go for it," I reply.

CJ opens it to find a small box of chalk.

Spinelli looks at CJ's box and then at me. "Chalk? Really?" Spinelli asks.

"It's invisible chalk," I reply, showing the name on the box for CJ. "Write on the teacher's board anything you like and when you turn the lights off, you'll see it all again in all it's invisible glory. The teacher won't suspect a thing."

"Oh thank you, TJ," CJ replies, hugging me, and then going back to her locker.

Spinelli gives me a sly smile.

I sigh at her. "Are you parched for a drink, or not Spin?" I ask her.

Spinelli slowly leans towards the water fountain. She takes a sip. With a squeal she pulls her head back.

"Holy crap! This is not water," goes Spinelli, going for another sip.

"Not bad, eh?" I reply with a smile.

Spinelli finally looks back at me after a few larger gulps. "I better get a present too," she says, taping me on the shoulder.

Spinelli gets closer. Still looking at me in the eyes, she holds my hand. I have the urge to ask her what's she's doing but I don't. Her eyes are so big, in an anime sorta way. She smiles at me. Her bangs slant so effortlessly across her forehead. I have the urge to call her amazing. Call her pretty. I dunno. She comes closer towards my face, her mouth slightly pouting, and her eyes begin to shut. I do the same.

"Hey TJ!" shouts someone at me.

Spinelli lets go of my hand and steps back from me. That was weird. Spinelli tried to kiss me in front of everyone and I was just gonna go with it. It's not like we were underneath a mistletoe or anything.

The janitor leans on his mop across the other side. "It's like prank-ception up in here," he says, looking all pleased but still somehow tired and moody.

Spinelli smiles at me awkwardly. She taps my arm again and makes her way down the hall, leaving the janitor and I to talk.

"This is what I'm talking about," I reply, slapping hands with the janitor. "It sure has livened the school up."

The janitor scratches his ear, looking to the side all disappointed. I thought I would have at least impressed him. He's the guy who relieves my urges to step outside the norm. Gives me my fix of both organizing and executing pranks. My all time favorite past time.

"What?" I ask him. "I couldn't have done all of this without you."

"It's been four months, and the best you can come up with is rink the water fountain to dispense black cherry lime cooler?" asks the janitor.

"Well, yeah. Ain't that awesome? Now guys and gals who are running low on pinching an odd soda can now sip on something sweet. Free of charge," I reply.

"It's time for you to set up a bomb to wreck up the school," says the Janitor, rubbing his rag with a menacing look.

"I don't know why everyone's saying that and I'm not doing it. Someone could get hurt and it's against any morale ground. It's not like it's benefiting anyone or even remotely funny."

"Don't get boring on me. Come one TJ, I'm losing my damn patience."

"What's your game anyway? I've seen you around the school talking to Gus and Mikey. Why don't you get off our backs for a change?"

"You're so going to regret that," replies the janitor, with a mean look.

He darts back round through the hallway again.

* * *

Sitting down in history, I listen to the droning sound of the person reading a passage from the textbook. I can't pay attention as Fusion has cornered his next villain in my comic. Man handling a heat seeking missile away from the city. I turn the next page. I hope Miss Stryker doesn't pick me next. This is getting good.

"Attention students," goes Menlo on the PA system. "Can TJ Detweiler make his way to the principle's office. I repeat. Can TJ Detweiler make his way to the principle's office, thank you."

The people in the classroom make "oohs" as I get up from my seat. It was only a matter of time really. I get to the door and give a little eyebrow raise to the teacher.

She smiles back. "Please read the next chapter on Washington, if you're made to stay long," Miss Stryker says.

"Ditto, Miss," I reply.

I almost skip all the way downstairs to the lower floor. It's quiet down here. Too quiet. All the classes are in session upstairs. I go inside my locker. There are so many gadgets in here that I could have used thanks to Gretchen. So many other pranks I could have devised. But. I'm only one boy, one man. All my operations are planned for six. Or even Molly and Troy too if they're game.

I look out from my locker's door to see a girl staring at me. It's Molly. Her pink hair is so bright, it just gave her away.

"Hey Molly," I say, slamming my locker shut. "What are you doing down here?"

"I was just coming from the toilets," she replies, flashing her hall pass. "Ooh, I was admiring your work. They're really special pieces of modern art."

"Really?" I ask. "I guess it is kinda."

"So," goes Molly, walking with me away from the stairs back up and towards the principles office. "Why don't you put your name by it like a real artist? What if someone else comes in and says it was them?"

"I don't need the credit. My close friends knew it was me. Who would wanna trade places with me right now anyway?"

"Well," goes Molly stopping outside Third's door. "I saw the janitor and he told me all about it. He is _so_ not like all the other teachers. He told me to help you get recognized."

"Molly, I don't need the help," I say, now holding the principle's door's handle. "I'm just praying that I get away with a few detentions and that's it."

"I will help you, TJ," says Molly, touching my arm.

She goes back up the hallway. She leaves me alone again. I turn around and knock on the principles door.

"Come in," says Principle Third.

I walk in. Third is sitting behind his desk writing down something. His reading glasses are all askew on his nose. I sit on the chair opposite his.

"TJ," says Third with a big smile. "It's lovely to see you. How are you today?"

"I'm good," I reply.

He stares at me for a second.

I stare back.

"So?" goes Third.

"Yeah," I reply, holding my eyes shut waiting for his speech on behaving and his inevitable punishment.

"How can I help you?" asks Third, putting down his pen and glasses.

"What do you mean? You called me here?"

"No I didn't," says Third, leaning back on his chair, looking confused.

"But I thought you called Menlo to bring me here," I say.

"I think I would remember that, TJ," says Principle Third, moving back down to his work. "If this is all, could you go back to class?"

I stand up from my chair. "Um, yeah okay."

I leave his office.

What was that? Is Menlo trying to prank me? I don't know what is going on. I walk past room 404. There's some weird sounds coming from it. I push the door gently with my finger. It's opening. I just back away from it. It's supposed to be an abandoned room. People don't inhabit it. Spinelli says it's where Third keeps a backlog of the school's money. Gretchen says it's an opening of another dimension. Gus says aliens, just aliens. That's his explanation for everything. What remains true is that it's always locked, but this time it isn't.

I step inside the room. Its larger than any of the school classes and roughly twice the size of the wall street one. It doesn't have a wall that goes in the ground like wall street's but it's more like a villains lair in here. CCTV screens flashing across the room. Masks of different peoples faces. Different outfits and costumes. Pictures of me and my friends are on the wall. Going up to it, there is dialogue of all our conversations. Plans sketched out.

The door slams behind me. I turn around.

It's the janitor. "TJ, we meet again, well, we've talked already, but not honestly and one-on-one," he says.

I remove my hat and put it back on. "What the hell is this?" I ask.

"It took me a long time to get to this point, so I'm going to let you figure it out," the janitor replies, leaning against the door, the only way out.

"Why have you got conversations of all of my friends? Why are you targeting this school and messing with my head like this?" I ask.

"This is the part where I should be monologing, right?" he says. "I'll tell you what _Teej_ , how's about I be your elder and you be the ignorant child?"

"You're James Stone, aren't you?" I ask, his face now matching the mugshot on the paper that morning before my first day of high school.

"W-w-wait, humor me," he says, all excitedly, waving his hands out for me to listen in.

James Stone, who it's gotta be, closes his eyes, tilts his head back and breaths in slowly.

"Theodore Detweiler. You lackadaisical, simpleminded, little cretin, rebel-without-a-cause punk. How dare you set a bomb off in the principle's office."

"What?"

"Yeah. You blew it all up, didn't you? Tagged your name around the whole school that you did it. Bragged to everyone that you'll burn down the school, and if you're so lucky, you'll get a chance to spend the rest of your childhood with the other kids who are mentally psychotic and violent like yourself."

"You're sick. I don't even know what you're talking about. I'm innocent."

James Stone walks away from the door and up at me. I keep my distance until we've practically changed positions. I'm by the door now. I can leave. But I don't.

"Innocent?" he laughs. "Yep yep, everyone's innocent until proven guilty. But you won't be, though. And you'll be condemned. And you'll be taken away from all your friends. And you'll be spending your days solemn and alone. And celebrating birthdays restricted of even using a simple birthday candle. And your friends will stop visiting you. And you'll be growing up restrained in a straight jacket in a padded room, while all your friends have their own lives without you. And then you'll think, 'hey, maybe I did blow up the principle's office,' 'maybe I'm not innocent,' 'maybe I am, crazy,'" Stone says, emphasizing _'crazy'_ by saying it much slower. "And. Scene. Not bad, eh?" he adds, altering his expression with a glide of a jazz hand across his face.

I don't know what to say.

"I told you I'll get you, TJ. It's your turn. _I tag. You're it._ Maybe this time you'll learn to fill me in on when you decide to take a rain check on dousing the superintendent with a hose."

I can almost throw up. I think back on the day the gang and I decided to punk him for cutting all our short cuts. He's had a personal grudge on me for that long. For four years. He's been wanting to get back at me for the same length of time it takes to finish high school. You gotta be kidding me.

I take my phone out and call Spinelli. I'm still looking directly at James and he doesn't look like he's stopping me. As if there's nothing more he has to do. Dang. No service in here. He comes rushing towards my cellphone. I'm running backwards. I snag a quick picture of him and slam the door shut. I gotta tell the others. I gotta tell anyone.

I run down the hallways. It's the inside of a horror movie. In white spray paint is "I DID IT. TJ!" written in every inch of the walls and the lockers. This definitely wasn't here before I went in room 404. If I didn't know any better, someone's helping this psychopath set me up.

The bell ring goes off for second period and everyone starts coming out of their lessons from the upper levels. Everyone immediately starts to take it all in. People talking to each other about what's going on. Eyes start darting towards me.

"Whoa!" Vince says, standing in shock with Ashley B. "What did you do, man?"

Mr Dude twists his head at the spray paint markings, "TJ, can you explain all this?"

 _Booom!_

An explosion blasts through high school, rocking the doors, causing their tiny glass windows to crack. The fire alarm starts screaming. A burning smell is coming from down the hall. The fire sprinklers turn on. Everyone screams and flail their arms. Some use their text books to shield their heads. I run towards the smoke, almost slipping on my sneakers. The roaring sound of flames gets nearer. The students that are far behind me get quieter, and it becomes clearer and clearer that I'm going towards Principle Third's office.

I'm here. Fire is flowing out of the office. The front door is completely ripped off the hinges. Black markings are all over the sides of the door. The fire sprinklers went off everywhere except where the fire is actually happening.

"TJ?" I hear. It's Principle Third. He's almost going cross eyed, unsure whether to look at his office or at me. "Oh my god!" He looks around frantically. "Ashley Spinelli, call a teacher, and get a fire extinguisher. Now!"

Spinelli is down the hall. I walk towards her.

"Don't you move!" Third orders, his finger pointed at me. "Why are you here? And don't tell me someone else decided to vandalize your name all over the lockers as well."

"You told Menlo you wanted to see me," I reply.

Third's face eyebrows rise and fall. "I did no such thing."

"What—but aren't you mad about the pranks I pulled earlier? This doesn't look good, I know, but it was James Stone whose behind all this."

"Who's James Stone?"

Mr Dude and that Coach with that long ridiculous Russian name, run over with their fire extinguishers.

"Move!" Coach yells at me, as I walk up to Third.

"He's the school janitor, but he's pretending to be one—" I try to explain.

"You're friends with Vince LaSalle aren't you?" Third asks, cracking a smile.

"Yes," I breath out, feeling we're know on the same level.

"My life was put in danger TJ, and all of the evidence points to you," Third says, serious again. "I don't believe it. I can't believe it. But I have no choice. I'll have to suspend you from high school, before further notice."

"But Sir, you don't understand," I say.

"Exactly," Third replies. He gives me a final, lasting look, then stands between Mr Dude and Coach, who are making some progress with the flames.

There's no sound going to my head like someone's turned the volume on my life down. With Thaddeus sounding final, I turn back down the hallway. I look back at Mr Dude whose stopped spraying with his extinguisher and is looking really confused at me. Coach slaps him over the head to get him to continue spraying. Spinelli comes up to me. I can't compute whats she's saying. She's probably asking like everyone else, 'what on earth happened?' 'Why is my name is everywhere?' 'How come an explosion blasted in Principle Third's office?' And then there's James Stone…

Spinelli slaps me hard across the face.

"Snap out of it!" Spinelli yells, water raining on her face. "What the h-e-double sticks is going on?"

"Thanks," I say rubbing my cheek. "I just got suspended, but you gotta—"

"You—what? Is this because you put your name everywhere downstairs?"

"No. You gotta listen to me. I did not do this. This was all James Stone."

"Who's James Stone?"

The front doors of the school slam open. The sprinkles stop. Officers, who look like they're from police special forces, come rushing into the school. They have helmets, riot shields and little batons. They barge through, making students stay flat against the lockers.

Spinelli is pushed to the side. "Hey!" she goes.

An officer puts his hand on my shoulder as he lowers his hand gun into his strap. The B.O.E in letters is spread across his bullet proof uniform. "Mr Detweiler, I am arresting you for an extreme act of terrorism, arson and vandalism that put you, your classmates and your principle's life at risk. You have the right to remain silent—" he says, putting handcuffs on my wrists.

"Oh my god," Gretchen shrieks, covering her mouth, as she just seems to catch on to what's happening.

"TJ, dude?" Troy goes, looking bewildered holding his head. "Why did you do this? High school sucks but there's no need to blow it up."

"As I was saying. _Ahem_. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. But sorry kid, don't get your hopes up on that," the officer finishes.

Another B.O.E officer steps forward. "We'd ask you to empty out your locker, but because of the seriousness of your crime, a specialized bomb squad has to empty it out themselves."

The officer, who read my rights, holds my arm. "It's a relief that this is the real deal, eh? Manny?" he says at the other officer.

The other officer lets out a sigh. "You're telling me," he replies, as he turns and looks at me. "Hey son, you won't believe the amount of hoaxes we get when we have to raid these video gamers."

A third officer, lowers his big riot shield. "There's even a word for that prank, a term for it, as if it's not bad enough already that these keyboard warriors are wasting the taxpayers money."

I wince my eyes not looking at them. "You mean, swatting?" I say.

"That's it," replies the third officer in delight, sliding down the see-through part on his helmet.

They push me forward up the hallway. Most of the kids are recording this on their cellphones. That gives me an idea.

"Hey Spinelli!" I yell at her, as she catches up. "Dig in my pockets and take my phone out."

"But—I don't. You'll need your phone won't you?" Spinelli asks in quick pants.

"Look, they're probably gonna take it off me later, I can't trust anybody," I reply.

Spinelli puts her hand down my front jean's pocket reluctantly and feels for my Cyborg cellphone.

"Not only is this weird, but this is getting kinda gross, Teej," says Spinelli, feeling for my phone and finally holding it out.

"Hey, what you got there?" says an officer at Spinelli. "That could of been used as a wireless remote to detonate the bomb." The officer takes a swipe at my phone off of Spinelli's hand.

Spinelli makes herself space to get away from him.

"Go!" I shout at her.

Spinelli runs off with my phone and stops half way down the hall.

"But Teej? Did you do it?" she asks, the officers now inches away from her.

"No! Now go!" I shout back.

Spinelli starts sprinting out of the school, dodging the B.O.E who spotted her taking my phone.

I take a slow walk of shame down the hallway with all the kids murmuring about what just happened.

Oh man, this can't get any worse.

* * *

 **"I told you so.** I told you not to mess up this opportunity, didn't I?" says Becky.

She's still here? I sit down by the kitchen table. I pull at my electronic tag that's hooked on to my ankle. My tag has now turned green, it was bright red the whole journey in the car before this. I pull at my tie, loosening it, and wrap my suit jacket around the back of my chair.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" asks Mom to Becky, just entering herself, putting her purse down on the kitchen table.

"I wouldn't miss this for—" starts Becky, stopping mid sentence, sipping her coffee.

Dad comes into the house, still with the disapproved stern expression he's had all morning.

"Nope, I can't think of anything," finishes Becky. "So, what's the damage? The dweeb has to do community service? Is he moved down to remedial classes?"

"Becky, for god's sake," sighs Mom. "Sam, please say something."

Dad whose completely stone faced takes one look at Becky. "Go to work, Becky," says Dad, loosening his belt.

"Come on, I'm just—" replies Becky.

"Now!" he orders.

Becky flashes a concerned look at me. Now she knows how deep in trouble I am. Dad's loud burst stays ringing in my head with a small echo as the kitchen falls silent. I don't think I've ever made Dad this mad at me. Becky gives me a small hug around my neck from behind my chair and kisses me on the cheek.

I don't know what's weirder. Becky kissing me or the fact that I don't want to immediately wipe it away. Becky pours her coffee down the sink and makes her way out the front door.

I'm in for it now. I brace myself for the hounding I am about to receive. I can see Dad's probably premeditated every punishment he wants to lay down on me.

"Right now Janet, he's your son. You punish him," says Dad to Mom, walking away and out the front door himself.

Mom looks at me. "What am I gonna do with you?" she asks.

"You believe me? Don't you Mom?" I ask.

"I have to go to work, honey. We'll talk when I get back," she replies, not answering my question.

She gathers up her purse, without saying anything more, and follows the rest who left. I'm home alone. The only sound coming from anywhere is the slow drip from the sink's faucet.

* * *

That's twelve and a half feet. My electronic tag flashes a red warning light for me to step back. I do. I walk from the front yard back to the house. My Ultra-box is still set up on the downstairs TV. All the remains of my peanut butter, jam and pop tart combination sandwiches are left in the kitchen in a mess. My only real chore is to decorate the Christmas tree, but I don't. It's always been a tradition for Becky and I to do it together. Been that way since we were baby's.

I watch TV for a bit, alternating between video games, when adverts come on. These talk show specials with the 'out of control' kids are hilarious. These ten year old kids abuse their parents, take drugs, have sex underage and to top it all off, they're all in some gang. Now they all have to go to a Brat Camp, get scared straight and then go back to their parents bawling their eyes out saying how sorry they are. I used to watch shows like these thinking I'll never be that bad. I know I'm innocent and everything, but right now I don't feel necessarily like a good son.

I log on the computer in my room and look up everything I can on James Stone's history. His life story. His Imdb page. His social media. All that's relevant, besides the blatantly obvious, is that he was an actor who made films that bombed, so he made a living to use his acting chops elsewhere of pretending to be a student, in order to leech off of my friends tricks. He took all the heat for being a 42 year old man in elementary school and from there, went from jail to asylum. What sucks is that no one cares anymore. James Stone's escape from a mental institute just got swept under the rug like a month old dust bunny.

I gotta get the guys together. But it's 11:45 and they're all at school, besides, all their numbers are saved on my phone. My phone, that Spinelli still has.

There's one number I do have. I go through my jean's pocket, that's crumpled to the side of my wardrobe. Bradley 501-8439. I go downstairs pressing his number on the home phone, and I stop on the final digit. It feels a bit weird calling him out of the blue, I haven't even seen him since the summer. I press 9.

The phone rings four times. "Yeah? Who's this?" asks Bradley on the other line.

"Hey, this is, um, TJ," I reply, twiddling with the phone cord.

"TJ, who?" asks Bradley, back at me really quickly, as soon as I finish say my name.

"TJ Detweiler. We met in Oklahoma the other—"

"I'm just messing, wassup?"

"I'm—"

"And it must be important, cause you're calling me on a landline, school ain't exactly out yet and like you said, we ain't spoke since we we're in hell together."

I'm at ease now. I tell Bradley everything. And I mean everything. The more I tell him, the more I realize I haven't told anyone everything that has happened. I asked for reasoning with White, who was the judge, but all he did was call me a liar, add more time to my case and give me my own ball and chain. This pesky electronic tag.

Bradley seems really excited and says he'll be over to my house soon. I tell him he's gonna be missing school, it just hit the afternoon of 12:18, but he says he wouldn't miss this for the world. Kinda how Becky was like this morning.

I clean up my house. While I'm completely in the midst of putting everything back, wiping the mess, using my hands to cup off the crumbs from the tables, putting the knives with spread on them away, I just decide to dump everything in the sink. Bradley's cool. He won't care. As I throw the last bowl in the sink, I hear the front door bell ring.

I open the door. "Hey, man," I greet him.

Bradley looks at me suspiciously, and nods. He looks down at my electronic tag. "You weren't lying. Cool," he replies.

I move aside so Bradley can step inside. With his shoes off, I lead him into the kitchen as we sit down beside the table.

"How did you parents take it?" Bradley asks.

"My dad wants to disown me, my mom doesn't believe me and my sister hugged and kissed me," I reply.

"What's wrong with your sister hugging and kissing you?"

"You don't know Becky," I say, putting my cereal box to the side so I can see Bradley easier. "If you were me, how would your parents react?"

Bradley laughs and then sighs. "I got an emancipation from my parents a year ago, gees, last time I saw them was about a year ago."

"Did you have to go to court for that?" I ask.

Bradley's in deep concentration with his head lowered, then he snaps it back up with a grin. "Yeah, they tried pushing me too hard in child genius competitions, which are basically just beauty pageants for nerds. I just look after my sister on my own now."

"Wow, I had no idea."

"Dude, it's awesome," replies Bradley, all excited. "I get to do what I want. _We_ get to do what we want and _now_ I have a say with what happens with the prize money I won."

We move all my things back up to my room. We spend time playing Ultra-box, watching TV and now we're on my PC watching Gold Star Twee Pop videos.

"Don't you watch Gold Star videos?" asks Bradley, scrolling down the video thumbnails.

"Ain't it supposed to be student classroom presentations, school plays and music videos?" I ask, all uninterested.

"Nobody watches it for that, it's all about these guerrilla style school fights. Look at this one, this one's got half a million views in like one week. Look."

I get off my bed and put my Ultra-box controller down. I look at the video. It's two girls fighting, pulling each others hair, recorded by some student on their phone. I recognize that guy's voice. What the heck?

"Hey, that's Maddie, this is my school," I say, recognizing her.

"No way. Really?" goes Bradley, now squinting at the screen.

The username above all the social media links says it was uploaded by 'King Troy'. The 52 second video ends.

Bradley restarts the video again, with the volume up higher. "Your school has it all, huh?" he goes.

Bradley uses the rating system below the video and gives it a B+. I really study the video. There's more people from school. Maddie. The back of Mikey's head. Mr Foley. Wait.

"Pause it," I say.

"What? You wanna pause at the good part?" Bradley laughs.

"No," I say, taking my mouse off of him. "James Stone. That's him right _there_."

Bradley looks at me like I've lost it.

"I mean, he's pretending to be a teacher as well, named Mr Foley. He's just wearing make-up and a toupée. Why didn't I see this before? It all makes sense now."

"You mind filling me in?"

"Vince got busted for joy riding Mr Foley's car, but wait, that's why Thad asked if we we're friends, Vince must of known him as the janitor as well, he was more than one person, I mean, he was being an actor—" I ramble, sitting back on my bed.

"All I know," says Bradley, swiveling around on my chair, looking serious for half a second. "Is your school is the _best_."

I look down at my electronic tag.

"Sorry," says Bradley.

My door bell rings. I look back at my PC monitor and it's 3:22 pm. My parents don't get back home from work until much later and Becky's pretty unpredictable. I leave Bradley in my room and open the front door downstairs. It's Gretchen and Mikey. They greet me and I bring them upstairs with me.

"It is utterly unfair and unjustifiable for them to handcuff you in front everybody like that, like you're some sort of, some sort of—" Gretchen says, stepping into my room.

"Criminal?" Bradley suggests, finishing off Gretchen's sentence.

Gretchen stops in her tracks and looks dumbfounded at Bradley.

Mikey's the first to react. "It's Bradley isn't it? It's been a long time my dear friend."

Gretchen lets out a squeak, I think, or a whimper, I dunno. "Um, Bradley, what are you doing here?"

"Helping the new enemy of the state find his feet, obviously. It's good to see you're doing and looking well, teach," replies Bradley to Gretchen, whose eyes he's been locked on since she came in.

"Thanks," replies Gretchen, looking kinda flushed avoiding his eye contact.

"So, big revelation guys," I say, clapping my hands. "James Stone is Mr Foley."

Gretchen and Mikey look at each other disappointed.

Gretchen shakes her head. "Mr Foley resigned today."

"Well," I go, taken a back. "He's also the janitor, I was in room 404, it had all his disguises and stuff."

"Sorry TJ," says Mikey, looking over at Gretchen's glum expression then back at me. "I passed by it before tutor class. It's being made into Principle Third's temporary office."

"Bummer," Bradley goes.

The front door bell rings.

"I hope to heck that's Spinelli right now," I say, walking out of my room.

I open the front door. It's Gus. I walk him up to my room as he greets the others.

Gus stands next to Bradley by the PC, leaned against my desk. "Sorry Teej, Molly said she couldn't make it."

"It's fine," I reply.

"Where's Spinelli?" asks Gus.

"I dunno," I reply. The front door bell rings again. "Hopefully, pray to Fusion, that's her."

I do the same. Leave my room. Go downstairs. Open the door. It's Maddie. Maddie immediately hugs me before I can get a word out.

"I'm so so so sorry for what happened to you," says Maddie, now letting go of our hug.

"It's no biggie, really," I lie.

"It kinda is, let me explain," says Maddie, as she peels her converse shoes off to the side of the door.

What could she mean? Instead of leading Maddie to my room, I'm the one that's following her.

"Hey peeps!" greets Maddie, walking into my room, throwing her purse on my bed. "Look, when I spread that rumor that you were going to plant the bomb I didn't—"

"You what?" I go.

"Maddie," tuts Gretchen. "How could you?"

"I gossip. _It's what I do,_ " Maddie says slowly, like Gretchen is too dumb to grasp on to that by now. "The weirdo janitor guy is pretty cool. He told me TJ was going to do prank after prank and one of those was going to be a bomb."

"But Maddie," goes Gretchen, slapping her own forehead. " _He's_ the guy whose framing TJ."

"Oh," says Maddie, stopping her quick sprints of talking. "You sure you didn't do it?" asks Maddie to me.

I'm about to answer her, as Bradley cuts in. "Yes, he's sure."

"Okay," goes Maddie, sounding unconvinced. "It's just the other day, TJ was so into these firecrackers, it could've just easy escalated into some prank gone wrong or gone too perfectly, you know what I mean, you guys saw Thad's statue."

The door bell rings yet again. This better be Spinelli.

"I'll get it," Maddie says, making her way out of the room.

Mikey tries to give me a comforting smile and goes downstairs with Maddie. I notice Gus whose just being quiet by the corner of the room.

"You all good, Guster?" I ask him.

"Yeah Teej, I've been—" Gus starts, but stops himself as he looks at my bedroom door.

There's six girl scouts walking into my room. No younger than any of us. One of them crouches down and looks at my electronic tag.

"Wow," the girl scout goes, staring at my tag. "Why haven't _you_ ever had one, Bradley?"

Bradley looks annoyed. "That's because I have to be good and look after you," he moans and looks at me. "Sorry TJ, this is my cute and very annoying sister, Daisy."

In fact, I do remember her from Third Street, actually. She used to play with her blonde dolly all the time.

A girl scout comes up to me with her hand out, blowing her orange hair away from her eyes. "Well?" she asks.

"Well what?" I ask her back.

Maddie and Mikey come back in my room, deep into a case of cupcakes.

Maddie looks up from the cupcake she's measuring up. "We said you'll pay, TJ."

Mikey pauses from chewing down a cake. "Sorry, you can't say no to Sweet and Whooping Cupcake Scouts. That would be criminal."

Bradley smiles saying, " _And that's the word of the day_."

The high school girl scout kicks my leg and demands for some money. I look for my wallet and give her five dollars. She takes it off of me and stares up at it to see if it's not counterfeit. My bedroom is so full now. I'm like an attraction all of a sudden.

My door bell rings. I'm glad I can just get out of my own room. I go to answer my front door. It's Spinelli. She's holding this old looking projector in one hand and her skateboard with the other. She rolls her skateboard halfway down the driveway and makes her way inside the house without saying anything. My front porch is packed with six matching green scooters.

"You all right, Spin?" I ask her.

She ignores me, takes her boots off, and goes up stairs towards the noise coming from my bedroom. I walk into my crowded room. Maddie is on the PC with Bradley looking at her school fight video on Gold Star.

"You see that?" goes Maddie to Bradley, pointing at herself on the video. "My hair looks stella even when I'm in combat."

Spinelli, whose already walked in, draws my curtains. She removes my Ultra-box from my TV and replaces it with her projector. Mikey, Gus and Gretchen go up to Spinelli to greet her but she ignores them too. She unplugs my PC's plug extension, turning my computer off. Maddie and Bradley argue at Spinelli, but she just plugs in her projector's cord, turning it on. Getting up, Spinelli turns the lights off, with the only light coming from the projector. All the girl scouts climb on to the edge of my bed as if we're about to watch a movie. Spinelli takes my cell phone out from her orange woolly hat and takes my phone USB from under my bed.

"What are we gonna watch?" Daisy asks me, taking a cupcake out and passing it around to her friends.

I hear my house's front door open and then close.

Spinelli, biting her nails, presses play on the remote.

"TJ! We need to put the tree up—!Hey! Why is it so crowded in here?" Becky asks, as she comes upstairs and then opens my bedroom door. She tilts her head at the picture projected on the wall. "What is _that_ supposed to be?"

"It kinda looks like big foot," Gus says.

"It looks like a creeper boogeyman," Daisy says.

"Eurgh, it does," goes another girl scout.

Spinelli adjusts the picture with my remote. "I keep looking this over and over, but it still just looks like an ugly giant blur."

I look around at everyone's faces looking at my snap of James Stone. "My bad? I'm not exactly used to taking pictures of grown men whose life goal is for me to go to a detention center."

I take my cellphone back. Shows over. The girl scouts roll off my bed and make their way past Becky. I leave with Spinelli, Gus, Gretchen and Mikey downstairs as I hear someone open back my curtains.

Becky bugs me again, so Mikey and I go up to the attic to get the tree down. As we walk downstairs with the tree, me in front, Bradley is saying something to Gretchen.

"So when you're not conducting an experiment, you'll let me bug you, then?" Bradley asks her, putting his grey hoody back over his head, just enough for his hair to still poke out.

Daisy pulls on Bradley's arm. "Come on, let's go, my crew still have two blocks to hit up."

Gretchen hands Bradley back his phone, smiling. "I don't think having a new after school science partner is out of the question."

With another smile Bradley opens the door and leaves. The girl scouts pick up their matching bright green scooters they all left on my porch.

Bradley turns back round at me. "Hey TJ, be strong man, you'll get through this. I know you will."

"Thanks, see ya," I reply.

Mikey and I turn the tree to it's upright position in the living room. Becky and I aren't alone putting the decorations up. I assign each of my friends what I want them to do. Spinelli helps with one hand and checks up on her phone with her other hand. Maddie twirls tinsel around her neck and then on to the tree, dodging around Spinelli's body. Gus hangs the baubles on the tree. I tell Mikey to put the angel on the top, which he does very effortlessly.

Becky hands me the end of the Christmas lights. "You got it?" she asks me.

"Yeah, just get it to dangle from top to bottom," I reply, pulling the cable around the back of the tree.

Becky looks down at my ankle and then looks at my friends. "Hey Mikey, why don't we dangle _TJ_ from the top of the tree?"

My tag is glowing bright green. Most of my friends smile at the remark. I try to ignore her and plug in the lights myself. The tree is finished as the primary colors light up around the hanging decorations. If the price for avoiding court tomorrow is to hang on the tree, I would.

I'm not gonna say that though. I'm not gonna give Becky that satisfaction.

We leave the living room and enter the kitchen. I take a seat.

Spinelli looks from her phone and nudges me. "Hey Teej, why hasn't Vince turned up yet? Didn't you call him?"

"No," I reply.

"Why not?" she probes hitting my arm. "We know he's your _best_ best friend."

"You think I should have called?" I ask.

She slaps me on the back of the head. "Yeah. That would be a good start."

Spinelli's right. If the worse happens, this could be the last time I see my friends for a very long time.

The front door opens and closes.

Mom reaches the door of the kitchen. "Everyone out! TJ, you are hereby grounded," Mom goes.

Everybody in the room sighs in exasperation. I think that makes sense, I only came across that word _exasperation_ from reading the Barnaby boys.

Everybody is basically just fed up at this point.

I look at her. "I didn't do it, Mom. How many times have I got to tell you?" I state.

Everyone looks at my mom, even Becky, nods in agreement with me.

Becky, whose standing by the wall, looks on. "Mom, come on. TJ's not nearly as smart or dangerous enough to pull off what he was supposed to have done," Becky says.

Mom squeezes her purse. "Really TJ? Is that the truth?" asks Mom.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I reply.

Mom comes over to me and holds me around my waist, up close to my crotch. "Oh my baby is going to juvie," she whimpers, as she hugs me all hysterically.

Spinelli pats my mom on the back. "No he's not," says Spinelli, in a comforting tone, with a confused look at me.

Mom's now crying on me. Her tears are soaking through my shirt. I move her head away from me gently. It's awkward. No. It's very awkward, but nobody's laughing. Mom starts to calm down. Gretchen, Gus and Mikey are remaining silent. Not even Maddie is contributing.

I look back at everyone. "Tad White is as corrupt a judge as they come. He's drooling over it and his hands are practically shaking with anticipation of slamming down his wooden mallet thingy, and sentencing me," I say.

"Hmmmm," mutters Gretchen to herself.

All our heads turn to Gretchen in expectation for her to come up with an idea, even Becky and my mom.

Gretchen lowers her finger from her chin in thought. "I'm sorry, Teej. I can't think of a valid solution."

Mom cries silently on my lap as she begins hugging me again in front of my friends.

I'm not even embarrassed.

In fact.

I feel like crying with her.

* * *

 **All I have left is my word, and as I play and breath, I'm gonna convince the judge, the jury and get the executioner to let me off the hook.** The jury is filled with the odd adult I may seen from Arkansas before. Not that I personally know any of them. The county board of education court room is so familiar to me now. I've been here on trial enough times.

"As you see," I say to White, defending myself with a half empty court behind me. "I couldn't of played a part in the explosion. I was in class. There's witnesses that can vouch for me."

Tad White fixes his paper in a neat pile. The bailiff from one side gets up to Tad White's high desk and places a weird long white wig on his head. It completely covers White's brown hair and reaches to his shoulders. The sort of wigs those olden timers in prehistoric times would wear. He adds some sugar in his tea before he stirs it.

"But TJ Detweiler," says White, waving the bailiff away. "If you're so adamant of having an alibi, then why have you put all this effort conjuring up this escaped convict with a vendetta? Or have you given up on that version of your story all together?"

"No," I reply.

The jury mumble too each other to the right of me. The sketch artist doodles more harshly. A lady on a the side desk flicks her fingers faster on her typewriter.

Tad leans on his high judge desk. "The bomb explosion happened at exactly 9:11. You were the last person to see Principle Third and you were the first person at the scene of the crime." Tad smiles and carries on. "There's creating foul language like _whomp_ and then there's terrorist behavior. That's a big jump. Even for you."

Tad White can't even hide how much he's enjoying this.

I scratch the back of my neck. "Look, White—"

"White?" he goes, with arching eyebrows. "You still show such little respect."

"All right" I reply, taking my hands out of my suit's pants pockets and putting them by my sides. "Superintendent Judge Tad White, sir."

"Yes?" he asks.

"With all due respect, I really like my high school. It's not like I have an ulterior motive or anything. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," I explain, stretching my body to face the jurors and then him the judge. "That's a thing, isn't it?"

Tad White rests his hand on his jaw. "Indeed, it is a thing. But let me enlighten you with your current record. Or your _ever_ building criminal biog." He takes out, what must be, my evidence folder. It makes a thumping sound as it lands on his desk. "The morning of December 6th, it was in fact _you_ who vandalized your school with." He pushes a switch with a long cord. The large hanging projection screen turns on some pictures on some slides. It changes from my blurry picture of James Stone snaps to the outside of the school. "Vulgar hate fueled banners that suggest that your school football team are inadequate and rely on one player. Alternating school bus signs that violate a dozen road conducts."

I look away and grin. The jury share a little giggle looking at the pranks on screen. The crowd behind me join in. The lady typer stops her fingers and chuckles herself.

Tad White continues. "You defaced the statue of your principle," he goes, stopping at the picture of my prank.

The whole court laugh together this time. I look back at my parents who look amused too, even my dad.

"You hate Principle Third the Fifth," says White, with a lot more hate in his voice.

"No. I really like Principle Third, he—" I start.

"I think you hate your principle and you wanted to get rid of him, didn't you? But you felt more comfortable staging this as one of your goofy charades so you could get away with it. You almost got away with it too but you needed people to know it was you, so that's why you plastered your name along the hallways."

"How could I? I was with Principle Third when that happened?" I argue.

Tad White moves my folder to the side neatly. "That's irrelevant at this point in time. He's already expelled you from his high school yesterday."

"What?" I say back to White, then looking down at my smart shoes.

That's it? I'm expelled just like that? I get into the super rich, the super perfect of perfect schools, just to get myself thrown out. Worse yet, it wasn't even my fault. This whole thing was a set up. Menlo calling me to Third's office. Whoever wrote my name on those lockers. James Stone.

My heart banging feels like it'll tip over, like my rib cage and my gut is gonna cave into it self. If I get out of this, at least my friends will still be a Friendsite message away.

"I'm here defending myself before all of you," I say, before breathing in then out slowly. "And if it helps. Then yeah. I did set up those pranks, but that's where it ends. I had nothing to do with the bomb. I have the utmost respect for Principle Third. I didn't want anything like this to happen. I would have taken any punishment at school for everything else I did. Honestly I would. I rigged the water fountain with juice so that people low on money could enjoy a nicer drink. I gave every single person in school a unique present in their lockers for Christmas, but Judge White, you didn't bother mention that?"

The jury nod and talk amongst themselves.

"I'm not trying to cause any harm. I'm sticking to my story and I'm not going to shy away from the consequences either. I just wanted to spread some joy and maybe some Christmas spirit with all my friends, which just happened to be every single student at school."

The jury talk to each other and one of them stands up. "We've come to a decision your honor. We all really liked TJ's speech and we feel a child, no, a young man, who can have this much care and maturity couldn't have done this. Plus, he has a strong alibi—"

"What is your decision?" asks White.

"We've decided after some deliberation that TJ Detweiler is not guilty," says the man, giving a quick grin at me before sitting back down.

Tad White thinks longingly. He looks to the side and gives a comforting smile. Taking a sip from his tea and then staring back down at my folder on his high desk.

"Overruled!" slams White, hitting his mallet on his desk.

"Huh?" I say.

"I'm a judge, TJ. I can do that," he replies. "TJ, I hereby sentence you to four years in the juvenile detention center correctional facility in southern Mexico."

The jury on my right are stunned. Looking back round behind me, Mom is crying out with Dad comforting her. I turn back at White.

"There have been several incidents at this school from other students already this year and I think I'm staring at the mastermind of it all," he continues. "If I can remove the head then the rest dies. This is for your own good TJ and for the welfare of teachers everywhere." He pauses to take a sip from his tea. "Do you have any final words to say to me?"

"Well," I sigh, fiddling my tie. "Nothing _you_ would like to hear."

I've got a few choice words to say to you. Why judge me when that stupid wig you have on makes _you_ look like the one hiding something? How does a guy hating children get to have a job revolved around them? How does a secret agent of the board of ed turn into a superintendent judge anyway?

"I've already plead to Mr Fifth to say I'm innocent, so right now I guess I'll plead the fifth even though I know I'm not guilty," I say.

Tad White gives me an evil smile. Something the Human Anvil from Señor Fusion #100 would trade in a heartbeat for.

When it comes to my own heartbeat though.

Forget it.

My entire heart has slumped out of my suit and on to the floor.

* * *

I hold numbers to my chest against a wall measuring my height. I used to count how tall I was on the side of my bedroom door until I just let my body just go with it.

"Right," orders the camera lady, taking a flash of the side of my face.

I turn both sides until my pictures are taken. I'm moved further forward. An officer takes my thumb and pushes it in black ink and presses it into some white paper, leaving my fingerprint showing. Not exactly finger painting, but I guess it still technically counts. How I'd wanna be finger painting with kindergartners right now. Wow. Did I really just think that?

This police officer is the real deal. No B.O.E lettering on his uniform, but the real legitimate stale grey shirt, strapped handcuffs on the belt and an American flag stitched on the arm's sleeve. He hands me over another long orange overall like the one I'm wearing. I get handcuffed from my wrists to my ankles and I'm lead by three officers to the front doors to go inside.

An officer staying behind calls out, "Wait."

I shuffle back around. The officer digs into the cardboard box where they confiscated my belongings. He throws my red cap at me where it falls on my spare jump suit I'm cradling. What is he doing?

"Don't look so surprised. This is not exactly jail," says the officer, shrugging his arms. He turns to the officers who are gonna be escorting me. "Take him outside to go to recess."

I'm lead through blacked barred doors that are open and closed by keys. The walls and floors are a washed out light blue. I walk through a big open area. Its completely empty. There are seats and tables where it looks like the place we would all eat. Doors below have numbers with more desks and chairs inside. The upper levels have cells. The officers walk me towards doors as bright sun light is piercing through.

They undo my handcuffs.

I put my red hat on and spin it around.

I'm outside. All the other guys, or inmates, are all out here. There are teenagers sitting by benches and standing by the side. Sections of teens are having their arms tattooed, but as I look closer, I think it's just a false alarm. The tattoos they're getting are press-on lick and stick temporary ones. The tattoo artist is applying it with a wet sponge for a short queue who are waiting for their turn. They still look amazing with dragons, tribal and one guy is getting a Floppy burger F logo on his arm. I walk further and I can sense more people noticing me as their heads direct away from what they're doing. There are guys playing basketball. Guys pushing weights and doing chin ups. With all of this being looked over by a big guard tower with officers wielding riot control claymore guns. The area is closed off by a chain link fence with barbed wire on the top.

Someone barges my arm. "You Piru?" he asks me, looking me up and down. He's in his vest, showing off tattoos and a blue bandanna hanging from his pocket.

"No. I'm TJ," I reply.

"I said, what set you claiming?" he asks me again.

I don't know what to say.

"Hey," he says as he laughs at another guy on the basketball court, stopping him from doing an alley-oop. "This guy one of yours?"

The guy on court comes over checking me out. He has a bandanna too but it's a red one. "You're kidding me right?" he laughs, as people behind him get closer.

Different teenagers bombard me. The guards at the top take notice. There are guys with swastikas. All the black kids seem to have either red or blue in their clothing. Some kids have white clown faces. I'm the only one wearing all my orange on. It's so obvious I'm the new kid.

"I don't claim a set," I say, looking around at them. "I just wanna be by myself."

"We're not good enough for you?" asks the kid with the red bandanna.

I'm pushed from side to side. I'm pulled from different people.

A clenched fist hits me across the face. I fall to the ground, throwing my spare clothes in the air. A loud siren goes out. Everyone goes to the ground, planking on their stomachs. I see the sky. A figure is standing over me. He's near my age, wearing some orange too, but he hasn't gone down to the ground yet like everyone else.

My vision is getting blurry.

It's someone I've seen before.

A very familiar face.

"Detweiler?" Lawson asks, looking down on me.

* * *

A hard punch hits me square in the gut. My eyes pop out more than a cartoon character's. It's like I'm brought back to life. I must of passed out. I'm bought back to consciousness anyway. I wheeze out with dry heaves. I'm back inside the canteen, being stared down by ten or so inmates. They look so distinct but they wouldn't look out of place in an 'out of control teen' chat show special. It almost looks like each of the different guys are all there representing their different groups right now or something. Everyone further around us our eating. It must be lunch time. I get dragged upright to my feet, my back against the wall, by a really large inmate with scruffy dark brown hair and freckles. Almost like he's the hulked up version of Lawson. But it's isn't him.

Lawson?

He was the last thing I saw until I blacked out?

I cough out loudly as I'm held up by my collar by a huge guy. "I don't want any trouble," I plead.

There he is. Lawson steps up from sitting down and puts his hand up to my face. Lawson has gotten taller. His still very much skinny but with some definition in his forearms. A blue baseball cap is on top of his reddish brown hair.

I crush my eyelids shut. If I take this mauling of an ass-beating now, the sooner I can get initiated as one of them. I stop flinching. Nothings happened. I open my eyes back open. Lawson has a confused expression with his hand left open for me to shake it. The big guy whose been holding me, lets me go. I wobble a bit. Lawson and I meet our hands together and bend it into a shoulder barge of a hug. Its a clean embrace. It's kinda weird how our handshake thing we just did was more in tune than the one with Vince.

Lawson steps back a little and smirks. "Gelman is not exactly the gentlest when it comes to giving wake up calls," Lawson says, holding my shoulder and then turning to the dollop of each kind of inmate here.

It's yet another weird reunion. That's Gelman? Whoa. It is. He's even more larger and even more intimidating.

Someone in front of me is stroking their chin. "He doesn't look like any chosen one," he goes.

"Yeah," replies someone else wearing same odd clown makeup. "Kinda frail if I've ever seen any escape artist. I thought he'd be tougher?"

Lawson slaps me on the back. "He's Detweiler though. I know this guy. If anyone of us dopes is getting us out of here, it's him," Lawson explains.

"Lawson," I reply, finding my feet in my sneakers. "I can't do that. I mean, I couldn't. Even if I could organize some jailbreak its just something I couldn't do. It would be unpatriotic. That's just against all my good morals and everything I stand for."

The guys sitting on the tables become unsettled and get up on their feet. They look all ready to pounce on me again.

Lawson pushes me against the wall and stands in front of me as a shield. "He's joking," defends Lawson, making the guys sit back down. He turns to me. " _I'm trying to get you out of an ass-beating here,_ " he whispers to me, before turning back around. "All right, dumb wads. I'll talk some sense into him."

Lawson grabs me by the collar and pulls me away from them. They move away back to their tables. Lawson leads me away to the lunch queue and hands me a carton of milk. I thank him and take a slow sip from it until I realize I'm hitting it down to the bottom making the gargling sound to indicate it's empty.

"Good, huh?" asks Lawson, staring at me.

"I needed that. I haven't had anything to drink since that long drive up here," I reply.

Lawson flicks his hat upwards. "Well, I'm glad. I might as well explain a few things."

"With the rules with the guards and stuff?" I ask, wondering out a loud.

"No, you simpleton," goes Lawson, walking a head of me as I follow him. "You'll get to know that soon enough. They'll shoot rubber balls into you to jog your memory of the rules."

"Oh."

Lawson takes a squat by a spare table. "There are six groups in this function. Or gangs. Same diff really. Those _hombres_ over there that spin the word _bonitos_ all the time are the Mexican mafia," he explains, pointing at hardened Hispanic guys eating. "The Asian guys are the Yakuza. Very respectful, but very dangerous." Lawson nods his head at the table of those guys who have some tribal tattoos showing. "The Bloods and Crips are color coded so they're easy to tell apart."

I'm focused on the teenagers with the painted faces. Lawson looks over and notices my eyes trail on them.

"I see that your seeing those clown face dunderheads. They're Juggalos. Which leads me to my group, the Aryan brotherhood," he says, stretching his head over at a table separated with white guys. "The Jugs and the WB, the white boys, are a unity. In a way."

The table of white kids are the ones with swastika temporary tattoos. There's a flag laid on their table that they're eating on top of. The flag looks familiar. It's the same one I saw last summer when I was cycling towards Gretchen's school.

"I've seen that flag one time at a trailer park," I say, looking at the Arkansa-looking flag. "I still don't know what it means."

"It's a confederate flag, you ignoramus," goes Lawson, nodding at the members, who nod back.

"You mean, it's racist?" I ask.

Lawson doesn't say anything. He looks down for a second.

"Lawson, are you—?" I ask.

"Nah, no way, TJ. I've got black friends," says Lawson with a wide smile, putting up his hands in protest. "When I said the Bloods and Crips were color coded I meant they're either _blue_ and _red_ , all right? It's just. You have to do what you can to survive in here. You could be an honorary member if you want?"

"I couldn't, I mean, Vince and I are—" I start.

"Hang on just one minute!" bellows Lawson at me, adjusting off his seat. "You and Vince LaSalle are still friends?"

Lawson jumps off his seat. Our conversation hangs in the air as we walk out of the canteen. Lawson nods at a guard covering the door. With a nod back, the guard moves over so we can move out to the open again. We go though the court yard where I spent that very short recess. Through the chain link fence I can really see the open and empty space of Mexico. It looks completely uninhabited. We're alone here. I get the impression that even if we climbed over the barbed wired fence, we'd be running through the dessert for days.

I look back at the door close and turn to Lawson with a sigh. "Yeah. I mean—"

"What about that really smart girl and the big softy?" asks Lawson, as we walk slowly side by side.

"Gretchen and Mikey?" I ask.

"And that shy little scaredy-cat dope?"

"Gus? Yeah, we're all in high school together. I mean, we we're," I say, realizing my predicament.

Lawson leans back against the basketball pole. He smiles to himself looking up. His eyes light up as he swallows some phlegm down hard. "How about, um, Spinelli?"

"Yeah, her too. We're all still friends," I reply.

"Aw man!" he goes, with a wider smile. "That's so freaking awesome. Man. How does she act like now? I mean, is she still tough and stuff or—?"

"Of course, just a week ago she pummeled a jock named Troy to the ground and gave him a black eye in front of everyone," I boast.

"Wow!" Lawson gasps. He bites his lip and starts looking around a bit shifty as if he's checking if we're still alone. "Yeah but, between us guys, right. Does she look, _you know?_ "

"Does she look, what?"

Lawson just stares at me raising his eyebrows.

"Uh, well, she's definitely taller. She let her hair down, but she's still not conventional. You won't catch her alive wearing makeup. Her beauty is all kinda natural," I say.

As soon as that leaves my mouth, it feels really awkward. I don't think I've ever freely talked about Spinelli that way before.

"Hmmm, and now here you are, in the middle of nowhere," Lawson goes, spreading his arms out, with the dessert of Mexico behind him as a backdrop.

We walk back inside through a different door. Lawson is telling me this is the chill room. It is a lot more relaxed here. The different groups are mingling together. Yakuza's and Juggalos playing pool. An Aryan member watching a small box TV next to someone whose clearly from the Mexican mafia. Wait. Earlier, the Crip and Bloods we're playing basketball together weren't they? Why even have these segregated groups, when we are gonna work and relax together anyway? I could say the same thing with high school.

Lawson rips out a comic book page and puts in his pocket, before laying on an armchair.

"Hey!" I say, picking up the tarnished comic book. "You just wrecked any chance of that comic book ever being preserved."

Kids around me laugh as they momentarily stop and look away from what they're doing. This is different. Its not like high school. They're are laughing at me, not with me.

"It's not personal," replies Lawson, winding down from laughing with everyone. "Lights out gets really boring, by the way, where are you assigned to sleep?"

I rack my brain looking up and then back at him. "Cell block D. Number 18. I think," I reply.

"Yes," Lawson goes, leaning off his chair to slap me in a high-five. He slumps back down on the chair. "We're bunk buddies."

I dig my fingers in my eyes that are closed tight. How did I ever get here? I've had enough of feeling horrible. Nothing is going to plan. I've been worked over. Thrown to the degenerates.

"What you screwing your face up for?" asks Lawson, throwing a paper ball at my head.

"I don't belong here," I reply, revealing my face.

"Yep, I know. That James Stone is some borderline kiddie fiddler."

"Wait! What'chu talking about? You know—?"

"Yeah I know about James Stone. That's how it works around here. Everyone knows what everyone's in for. Just as long you don't snitch, you'll be okay," says Lawson, now looking over at someone being assisted. Lawson looks directly at someone who is completely covered head to foot in a caste, having an inmate pull his playing cards out for him. "You remember him?"

"Who? Him?"

Lawson slides off the armchair with a grunt. He walks over at that guy. I can only see his eyes poke out through a tiny slit of the full caste he's got on. The injured guy moves over in a straight stiff shuffle and mumbles something to me. I don't know what he's saying. I need a translator.

"Don't you remember Randal Weems?" asks Lawson, tapping on his solid caste. "Like I said, snitches get stitches." Lawson crouches down to Randall. "I have to admit, for a low life no good snitch, you have heart. You don't quit no matter how brutal we go on you."

I turn at Lawson. "So how did _you_ end up here?" I ask.

Lawson's smile drops. "Chucko," he says, with narrowing eyes as he shakes his head. "I'll just leave it at that."

I nod. We walk back through the chill room. We don't say anything for a second.

"All right fine," goes Lawson. "You think you know someone, and then they sell you out. Me and Chucko were hitting up a wholesale store. Just stealing enough to get by. School supplies, you know, pencil cases, sharpeners." Lawson lets out a cough. " _TV's,_ " he adds quickly. "He ends up ditching me with the first sniff of trouble were in and he ends up not only dime-ing me out but convincing the whole crew to do it with him." Lawson pauses pushing a pool ball in a socket. "I hope he gets his come-up-ins one day. I know he will."

I turn to him. "What do you guy's do all day?" I ask.

" _You really are new,_ " replies Lawson. "This is not jail, TJ. It looks like it and it sure smells like it, but we still have classes to go to. Oh, and counseling."

* * *

 **My eyes slam open as the jail cell does the same.** I did not sleep at all. Not a wink. I lay flat and motionless on the top bunk bed. I feel Lawson poke my back through the thin mattress. I roll on my side. I didn't get any shut-eye. I hate my brain for not letting me fall asleep. I'm always responding to Christmas with excitement. I lean off my bed and dangle my bare feet off the side.

"Merry Christmas, chumps," greets Lawson, sitting upright and stretching his arms wide.

Gelman gets up from the opposite bunk bed. "My ole' man don't believe in Christmas," argues Gelman, as he rubs the crusts out of his eyes.

"Your old man doesn't believe in coming back home after buying a pack of cigarettes either," chuckles Lawson.

"Huh? Hey!" replies Gelman in a slow comeback.

Randall mumbles something himself, I think he's saying, "I need some help."

I drop down from the top bunk and drag my feet across the small jail cell, slash bedroom. "You want me to help you Randall?" I ask him.

Juvie has already grown on me. I'm already understanding Randall's muffled talk. I climb up the short ladder of Gelman and Randall's bunk bed and push the lever on the back of his mattress to push his head up. It's pretty awesome how Randall has a special hospital bed to accommodate him, considering how cheap everything else is here. It would make more sense to have Randall at the bottom and Gelman on the top, but the last thing you'd want is for Gelman to unexpectedly fall on to Randall. It would probably kill him a lot more efficiently than the inmates are trying to.

Randall tells me to help him up and over. I'm struggling.

Gelman gets up himself and he's so tall that he reaches the top of the bunk just standing. He picks up Randall from his feet and I hold him from his head. We delicately move him on to his feet. This takes me back to about two weeks ago when Mikey and I did the same thing with the Christmas tree. That being said, it is Christmas today. Apparently.

The jail cell door was wide open this whole time with others walking past. Lawson is the first to make his way out. He pats me on the shoulder and gives a sly smile. Gelman bear hugs to pick him up Randall and follows Lawson out of our cell. I follow them three as we walk out to the open with the balcony railing on the side of us. We make it to the bottom of the canteen area. There is absolutely no Christmas decorations. Everything is grey and white. Only a small brown aging tree slumped over in the corner of the room that looks like all the lights on it were thrown on it in the last second.

"Christmas. Christmas," says the guard, over and over to each of us in a robotic voice with literally no merry in it.

A guard with a red sack is giving away something to the inmates.

"What?" I go, stopping still. "We actually get presents?"

Lawson turns around. "Teej, buddy, you already know everything sharp or in anyways fun is removed. Don't get your hopes up."

Randall mumbles something as Gelman lets him go. I don't think I caught on to what he's saying this time.

"That's right, Randall," goes Lawson. "It's our first Christmas here. I doubt it's gonna be new Ultra box's unless it's for all of us to share."

The other guys move over to the guard holding the open sack. The inmates are pulling out weirdly wrapped items covered in Christmas wrapping paper. Some of the presents I can't guess, but others look so obvious. A yakuza takes one that's shaped as a kettle. A crip member gets one which is shaped as a single boot. One of the jugglalos pulls out a present in the shape of a tennis racket. Just a tennis racket. No ball. Nothing.

"Take one, move along," says the guard as we each are reaching for an item to take.

Gelman gets to the front of the short queue. He heaves both of his thick arms into the bag. He takes two presents out.

"Inmate, I said take one," goes the guard, halting Gelman to a stop.

"This one's for Weems," argues Gelman, holding a present in each hand.

The guard looks over at the stiff full body caste of Randall and then back at Gelman. "Okay then. Move along."

Lawson rubs his hands together before putting his arm in the bag as he ruffles and feels inside.

"Hurry up and pick one," rushes the guard at Lawson.

"All right. All right. Keep your hair on," replies Lawson taking his one out, that looks pretty small.

I go in as it's my turn. I take an oblong thing out. It definitely has some weight to it so the value of it has to hold some weight in it too. I mean, it's gotta. I jog back to the others who are about to just rip open their presents before me.

"Wait!" I yell at the three of them.

"Why?" Gelman asks, already half way of revealing what he has.

"Cause we have to open all our presents together," I reply, taking it upon myself to cover his gift back up slightly. "It's a Christmas tradition, so no one feels left out in case someone gets more than the other person."

"Hmmm," ponders Lawson, looking at his tiny fist of a sized present and shaking it to his ears. "Randall, just in case mine's sucks, can we swap?"

"No," Randall says in a muffle.

"Aw thanks, Weems," goes Lawson, taking Randall's long stick of a present that was balancing in a gap from his arm to his waist. He's obviously using Randall's inability to talk against him. "That's awfully nice of you."

I countdown from three. We reach two then one and we tear open what we got. Gelman waits until we're midway through to open his completely. I got a, well, I got a brick. A simple brick. Gelman on my right side has a little baseball bobble head. The one's that won't stop gyrating in the front or back of a car. Lawson has a small little rubber duck and a broken selfie stick.

For all the terrible luck. My Christmas cheer is all dried up. If I still believed in him, then it's like having Santa going to an old people's home. This is more worst than getting something from the lost-and-found from the commissary. All our presents were basically pick and chosen from the dump.

I'm fuming. I charge back over to the officer giving the so-called presents away. I barge to the front pushing the other inmates to the side, who barge me back. I don't care at this point. What's the worst they can do to me? Knock me out again like my first day?

"Where's my actual present that my parents got me?" I ask.

"Excuse me?" the guard replies.

"I know I got something back there," I explain, looking passed the guard at the small reception desk full of our mail and contraband. "My mom mailed it to me."

Other inmates around me laugh at me as soon as I mention my mom. I don't care. My nickname in this place could be 'momma's boy' for all I care.

The guard puts his red bag to the floor. "Everybody gets _one_ mystery present and that's it," he clarifies, standing over me.

"Okay," I reply with a nod. "That's great and everything. But a brick though? What am I supposda do with it?"

Another guard comes over. "I don't know," he laughs, chewing down some gum. "Maybe you could think of something."

I hate that I have a hundred answers for that. In my entrance exam to Thad high last summer, that was the first question.

"I thought we weren't allowed any sharp objects?" I ask, covering a bit of the brick up so that it doesn't cut my fingers and cover them with excess dirt.

One guard comes closer resting his hands on his belt. "That's not for us to worry about," he sighs, not missing a beat. "It must of slipped through."

I grip my brick hard in my hard. "Maybe my brick will slip through on to your head," I whisper, louder than I expect to under my breath.

The guard reaches for his night stick. "What was that boy?" he threatens.

Lawson pulls me back. "It's not worth it, man. Forget it," goes Lawson puling me away from the scene.

A brick? A friggin' brick for Christmas? I've had enough. I screw my eyes and feel them twitch on their own. My mouth is getting a bit frothy. For all the rotten things to do to a guy and they confiscate my real present my mom and dad got me. My mail which they have no right to be taking.

Randall asks me if I'm okay.

"Hey Teej, you're blowing up," says Lawson, holding my shoulder. "So you got side swiped with a crappy gift. So what? We all did."

I calm down and breath out slowly. I stop and stare around the facility but more diligently this time. I notice the unbreakable windows. The opening and closing of the barred doors. The rustling of the guard's keys. Pin pointing routes and hidden gateways in my mind.

"Lawson. You guys," I say to them, juggling my brick in one hand. Gelman and Randall come closer. "I said I won't try to escape because its unpatriotic to America, you know, the justice system is something our founding fathers fought for and all that. _These guys though_. They can expel me from my high school. They can put me in juvie for nothing. They can take my cellphone and force me to have only four minutes to talk on a pay phone. But now they did something really despicable. They took away my Christmas. And now." I grit my teeth and tug the back brim of my hat. " _Now_ it's personal."

* * *

 **I'm given slight nods by each leader of a group in the Chill room.** We can't mess this up. The countdown for the new year is gonna commence soon. The guards don't suspect a thing. They have their guards down, literally, so there is no better time to do this. A few of the them keep their claymore guns balanced against the walls. There are guards disguising their alcohol by pouring it in coffee mugs.

Lawson pockets another ball in the corner of the pool table. The other inmates are playing their part by relaxing, joking and generally doing nothing. That's important, especially as one of the yakuza sneaks into the commissary when the coast is clear.

Lawson hands over the pool stick to me. "We hit the first phase yet?" Lawson asks in a hush hush.

I look over at Lawson and snatch the pool stick off him. "Not yet. We have to be on the other side of those bars," I reply, not making eyes with the barred doors.

I peer up at the balcony above. A juggalo inmate smothers a guard with chloroform in a washcloth with a ease. He delicately drags him and places him into a cell. He smears one of the individual keys with paint before he then throws them over to me and I catch it. He gives me a soft nod. Everything is quick and efficient so far. The yakuza comes back out and hands over supplies subtly to the other guys who are watching TV.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" starts everyone gathering round the TV, the guards included.

Gelman joins Lawson and I. We walk to the door. I take out the set of keys and use the one with smeared clown paint on. He color coded it. Save me from having to go through the dozen of keys until one of them works. The door makes a slight click. The inmates stare back at us in the corner of their eyes and look to see if any of the guards noticed. They haven't. I open the bars on a sneak tip and slowly close it back up. We take a turn through the hallway until we are out of site from the chill room.

"Three! Two! One! Happy new year!" goes everyone from back inside. The sound of the TV turns off. "All right inmates, back to your cells!" we hear a guard say, to the usual jeer of moans.

We're on the other side. On forbidden territory. It's all or nothing now. Lawson and Gelman lean against the wall waiting for my command. I can't help but peer back at the inmates as they squabble back to their cells, with some of them smiling back in my direction.

I turn to Lawson and Gelman. "Phase two," I say. "We disable the alarm and then find the exit."

Gelman pushes my shoulder. "What's gonna be phase three?" he asks.

Lawson looks at Gelman. "Phase three is we escape, you doofus," goes Lawson.

I tilt my head in agreement. The lights switch off. Us three are now surrounded by darkness. We move up through the hallways of the juvie. It's feels like it's completely empty here besides us three. We're in the parts of the juvie we would only see very rarely. I stop at the end of each hall and wave the two on to follow me when the coast is clear. On the ceiling there's a slow moving camera at the top.

I turn to Lawson. " _Use it now,_ " I whisper to him.

Lawson nods back and takes out his selfie stick from his pants. The inmates help turned his stick into a slightly different gift. It has a further reach and it grips tighter. He unwinds the stretched pole, that's been fixed, and turns the camera around so now it's recording the blank wall behind it. We continue on. A light shines against the wall. A guard must be shining a torch down here.

"Lawson," I say to him. "Pass me the duck."

Lawson smiles and shakes his head. In his other pocket he takes out his rubber duck and hands it over to me. I tip toe to the middle of the hallway as the guard gets closer. I slowly place the rubber duck on the ground and back up and away from it. I get back and out of sight from the guard's sight. The guard gets closer walking down towards us. The rubber duck squeaks as he steps on it.

"What the—?" the guard goes, shining his torch down on the duck. He bends over to pick it up and stares around to see if anybody else is here. He turns his back on us.

I look over at Gelman. "Now," I tell him.

Gelman rushes over to the guard and grabs his neck from behind. Lawson and I get away from cover. Gelman strangles him in a sleeper hold, forcing the guard to make gargling sounds as he struggles to get free. Lawson and I look at each other in shock. We sleep in the same cell as Gelman every single night and yet he's capable of just taking down a grown man. The guard squeals in a higher pitch than the duck. His body goes limp. Gelman lets go as the guard's mangled body drops to the ground.

"Wow," I gasp, forgetting to whisper as I take the torch from the guard's hand.

Lawson kneels down at the guard's body. He kicks it, making him roll over on his back. "Hey, you dope," he says to the guard. "You just got knocked the frig out!"

"Quiet," I whisper. "Let's get him out of here."

I scuff the torch awkwardly in the front gap of my hat. We grab the guard's legs and drag him into one of the spare rooms. We shut the door back up again. Lawson takes the torch from me, causing my hat to fall off. Gelman bends down and slaps my hat back on for me. I spin my hat back around again.

We check a few doors until we find the security room. It's a dingy room, with two guards watching the security camera's images. One of the cameras still shows the blank wall in the hall. Gelman pulls the guards out of their chairs from their necks, who only now notice our reflection off monitor screen. I take a seat and take out my piece of paper that has the method of disabling the alarm. Lawson walks over the guards bodies and sits beside me. I go through the system and I disable it. That hacker inmate who told me how to do this _sure_ knows his stuff.

Lawson hovers his hand over a lever to release the cells.

"Not yet," I say to Lawson, tapping his arm away from it. "We have to find the exit first. There's no way everyone's gonna leave quietly."

We head back outside to the hallway. We go through each room until we're back to the front door of the juvie. Lawson and Gelman follow behind me. I press in the key and brace myself as it slowly clicks open. No alarm has gone off.

We reach the long large brick wall separating juvie to freedom. The Great Wall. I can see why the guys call it that now. We'd have to walk for a long time to get to the Mexican road on the other side.

I look over at Gelman. "You bring the bobble head?"

"Sure thing," Gelman replies.

Gelman takes his changed up bobble head. It's connected to string now. He spins it around in circles and flings it to the top until attaches on the barbed wire.

"Wait," Lawson says. He runs back inside and comes back out with a rug. "To stop our hands getting cut."

"You sure this is gonna work?" asks Gelman at Lawson.

"Sure," he replies, putting the rug over his shoulder "I saw it in film once."

Lawson lifts his body and climbs himself up the rope. He throws the rug over the barbed wire as he gets to the top.

"You okay, Lawson?" I ask.

"Uh! Yeah!" goes Lawson. "Yeah. It's actually quite amazing up here. Sorta peaceful and junk."

Gelman follows up next. I hope he doesn't break the string. He's more than heavy enough to do that, and yet he's making his way up there. Twofold. Now it's my turn. I pull myself up. I'm still dangling right at the bottom. My body's not budging. I push my feet against the brick wall to get some leverage but all I'm doing is increasing the Chinese burn on my fingers. Ugh. I can't do it. How can Gelman be so bigger than I am but still be able to lift himself up like that?

"Teej!" shouts Lawson at me. "What's the hold up?"

"I can't, I can't do it!"

Gelman slides down. I jump back before Gelman crashes into me. He lifts me up an gives me a boost further up the rope. I'm halfway there but he can't push me any further. I try again but it's no use. I'm so out of shape it's not even funny.

"TJ. You ready?" asks Gelman, holding me halfway up the rope.

"Ready for what?" I ask.

Gelman pushes all his weight on me. He chucks me over the wall. I fly over the great wall. The barbed wire cuts on my arm and I land on the ground on the other side.

"Oh gees!" goes Lawson, not hiding back his laugh. "You all right, man?"

"I think so," I say, getting up on my feet.

The top of the mountains groove underneath the night sky. The air is cool and fresh. None of that industrial cafeteria stench. This is freedom.

Lawson jumps down beside me. He knocks my arm and we make are way to the police cars lined up in the parking lot. "Gelman?" asks Lawson, as he parts his hands open with a cheeky grin.

Gelman reaches in his pants. He pulls out a brick, my brick, and hands over to Lawson. He and I stand back a little as Lawson smashes the brick through the car's window. The alarm goes off. It's really loud. _Crud!_ I knew this was too good to be true. Something like this was gonna happen. Lawson swings the door open and picks out wires underneath the car's steering wheel. The alarm turns off. That was quick.

It's peaceful again. I take a seat inside, on the passenger seat. Gelman sits in the backseat. Lawson continues to pull out wires from the police car. He clicks a few wires together. The engine roars as the car begins to rev into life.

"Lawson?" I ask him. "I know this is dumb to ask, but, you can drive, right?"

Lawson turns to me and even Gelman laughs at me. "Teej, you _just_ saw me hot wire I car. _Yes_ I can drive. We're convicts after all," goes Lawson, adjusting the side mirror on his side. "What's wrong?"

I stop from staring in the distance. "I dunno. This is way too easy," I reply. "I should go back and release the cells."

" _You do that,_ " says Lawson, steering the wheel around with the car still stationary. "Bring Gelman, in case you need to choke out some more guards. I'll be right here when you come back."

Gelman gets out the car and I follow him. Lawson stays behind. I know what's coming up next. I hold on to the string attached on the Great wall as Gelman throws me over the other side. I touch base with the rug Lawson got when I reach the top. I tuck my head into a front roll as I hit the ground, until I'm in a crouching position. Whoa. That was amazing. I can't wait to brag to my friends on how I did that. No. I won't get too ahead of myself until we get out of here.

We follow our old footsteps and go back to the security room. I hope the inmates haven't fallen asleep like these guards Gelman has suffocated. I sit back on the chair.

I look over at Gelman. "Do it!"

Gelman gleefully pulls down the lever to release the cells. There's loud hollers that begin to pick up. It's getting louder and louder.

"TJ. You hear that?" asks Gelman.

"Hear that?" I say, looking at the security recording. All the inmates are running out making noise. "I can see it. It's supposed to be a covert operation. You know, sneaky."

These inmate do not know subtly. All the cells are wide open but they're shouting at full volume. We get out of the room. The lights get switched back on. This can't be good. I told these guys we were gonna be stealthy. An alarm starts screeching. I race back to the barred doors with the keys and unlock it. I almost drop my keys.

Aw man.

It's gone crazy in the chill room. The guards have turned up and the inmates are fighting back. There are fists and batons flying. I open the door and get inside. Guards with claymore guns are trying to shoot their bb pellets but they're getting overthrown by us.

There's a sudden fast spinning sound from outside. It sounds like a helicopter. Small holes in the roof smash open. I dodge the debris as it crashes on to the ground. Is this extra help? Have my friends come to rescue us on this operation? My face drops. It's a swat team. The same swat team that arrested me at school. The Board of Education. It's a full riot. Two swat team members come at me with bats and shields. I try to back away but I hit a wall.

Randall's body falls on top of them from the balcony. His caste used like a weapon.

I push guards away from me. It's a war against the police. The B.O.E are pushing us back. The claymore guns hit us from up above. My head gets pushed on to the pool table. A guard has me pinned down. I struggle to get off him. There's a taser in his hand. An inmate knocks the taser out of his hand and kicks him in the face. It's Lawson. He came back. He helps me back up.

"Lawson," I say.

"Let's get outta here," he replies.

There's no way to the exit.

We're out numbered by the B.O.E. Both Lawson and I get pinned down. There's too many of them.

* * *

 **I'm gripped by each arm as I'm being lead into solitary confinement.** I'm moved away from my friends. My new friends. I can't call them inmates anymore. The cell doors to the side of me are solo cells too. My friends inside of them smile at me and say my name as I moved by them. I recognize a few who were fighting earlier this morning. A few fresh bruises around their eyes. Gelman has his own cell too. He knocks his bar cell at me.

I stop at my solo cell that's further along from everyone eleses. Further down this long hallway until I can't hear my friends anymore. The guard unlocks the solid white door. This one doesn't even have bars to it. He takes the cuffs from my wrists and throws me down in the center of the room. I lift myself off from the ground as the door slams behind me. I hear the guards footsteps as he turns back around the hallway.

I lean against the wall. There's one window with sunlight coming through it.

We were so close. If only the guys didn't break out in a riot like they did, I wouldn't be here. Maybe if I didn't start off those pranks at school I wouldn't be here. But James Stone would have thought up a way to get me trapped in here anyway. What if I just told a teacher all those years about him instead of putting it in my own hands? Miss Grotke would have believed me, right? Forget it. It's all if, buts and maybes at this point. I have no concept of time at all. At least Lawson would have kept me entertained. I really miss him, which says a lot on it's own. I watch as the sunlight slowly moves from across the room.

Two hours. Three hours. I don't know. There isn't even ceiling tiles for me to count or anything. Just a four sided room. A measly dumb four sided room. This is just like 'The Box' Miss Finster made in the playground back in Third Street. It's just like that. I'm back in the box. I gotta think about what Gretchen, Spinelli and the rest told me. I have to conquer my fears and stuff. Stick with my sanity. It's was Miss Finster trying to get to me. The guards are doing that. They're _all_ trying to get to me. But no sir. Not today. No way you're going to get to me.

"No way. Not to me."

Ha.

Wait.

Did I think that or did I say that? Am I even speaking right now? How will I know if no one is here to hear me?

"I'm so stupid! Stupid TJ! Stupid!"

What am I talking about? I sit back down in silence. My breathing is getting heavier. It's the only thing I'm hearing. I've seen nothing but wall for hours. It's so small in here. These walls. If they could talk they'd probably tell me to shut up. The walls are moving in. Coming closer to me. I shut my eyes closed.

The walls push against my face. I can't breath. I can't take it. I can't.

My mind's playing tricks again. It's just closed confinement TJ, it can't hurt you. Be little TJ. That's what I'll do. Little TJ wouldn't go crazy on account of some stupid walls. I open my eyes and the walls are in touching distance. I feel it. Its crushing my head. Maybe I should just back off? Be good from now one. If I behave well then they'll have to let me out.

Just calm down. Ha ha yeah. A little song. Little TJ would sing a song.

"This old man, he played two, _hee hee hee_ ,  
He played knick-knack on my shoe."

I stand up and stop my body from rocking side to side. I push my hands against the walls. I'm just at the side of the room. The room wasn't consuming me at all. I know it wasn't but its hard to convince myself. I've said 'I can't do it' too many times. Enough for a lifetime. I say 'I can't escape', well, yes I can, I'll just try again with a better plan. I say I can't do, I dunno, 'pull ups' but if I put my mind to it, instead of losing it, I'm sure I can. There's nothing to pull myself up with, though. All the pull up bars are on the outside where we have recess.

 _I_ know. Push ups. I can count them while I do 'em too. I lower myself in position. I try to lift myself up. _Ugh!_ I'm so heavy. Those Winger Dingers went straight to my gut. I fall on my face. Gelman is not here to lift me this time. Vince is not here to spot me either. I gotta do it on my own. I lift my body higher in a push up. My elbows are gonna buckle. Sweat is breaking out on my forehead.

I'm up. That's one. I lower down to the floor on to my stomach. That was one. Not half of one, but one _whole_ one. I actually did a press up.

I try again.

Hey. I'm getting good at this. That's two.

**[PLAY SONG"Tyler the creator - Cherry Bomb" AT THIS POINT]**


	9. Jaywalking punk anarchist

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 8

Spinelli POV

* * *

 **Free TJ.** That's whats bombarded on all the lockers and trending on Chitter. All the 'Vote For Me' election posters are completely overrun by them. The electives seems to be CJ Rottweiler, a girl I played kickball with once, and some guy named Emil Brizanka. CJ's one is kinda sweet and subtle with stars and hearts. Emil's is a red, white and blue republican looking one. I never notice Emil much. Something tells me he used to go to Third street though. His name rings a bell.

I rip off their presidential posters covering my locker and throw them on the ground. The 'Free TJ' one, I fold it into my locker.

"Happy new year, Spin," says Ashley T, her hands cutely clenched together just above her waist. "Got any new years resolutions?"

"You're looking at it," I reply. "I somehow got outta bed this morning, didn't I?"

"Oh," Ashley T goes. "Are you team Rottweiler or team Brizanka?" she asks, tearing two opposing posters as we walk to our different tutor classes.

"CJ's a girl, I'm a girl, so," I say.

We make our way to our different tutor classes along the ground floor. I'm outside my class.

"I'll see ya later at recess," I say.

"Late," Ashley T says, as she waves. "Oh yeah, add me on Chitter at Totally Tomassian, okay?"

"Will do."

Mr Dude comes out of the classroom, locking the door behind himself.

"Hi girls," Mr Dude says to us. "Tutors cancelled this morning, if you could make your way up to the auditorium."

"Uh. Hi sir, hi," Ashley T fumbles.

"Oh brother," I sigh.

Must every girl get so gaga around Mr Dude. He is the youngest teacher here for sure, so it's definitely a step up from all the old aging professors. But still.

Mr Dude leads us to the auditorium where most of the students already are. There's some fuss towards the middle of the large room, where I can see people complaining behind Mikey. I get closer, where I can notice that it's impossible to see passed Mikey's head. I sit next to him and notice that Gus is on the left side of him. Gretchen is towards the front with some girls from the tech kids, Vince is towards the back with some of his team mates and Maddie is with the other cheerleaders. I catch eyes with Maddie and see her say my name.

Just like that, Maddie leaves the other cheerleaders and comes towards us. "Ready for the bore fest, you guys?" greets Maddie taking a seat next to us.

So now its Gus, Mikey, me, Ashley T and Maddie in the middle row. I look back up at the cheerleaders and directly at Ashley A. She looks a bit jelly that I seem to be attracting her friends away from her. That's not exactly what I'm shooting for. Maddie and Ashley T are just good company, especially when Gretchen is not around. Not to mention TJ might not be going to this school anymore.

The last couple of students come through the back entrance as the lights begin to dim and turn off. The lights are focused on the stage as two election stands are on each side. With CJ on one and Emil on the other. Thaddeus comes out.

"Happy new year, everyone," announces Principle Third. "I trust that you all have had a restful holiday. Okay, I'm not going to just cloud the incident. We're all trying to piece together what exactly happened at the end of last year."

"Free TJ!" shouts someone from the audience.

"Yes, all right," says Third, as other students start joining in. "We will do our best not to have another event like that take place in our efforts to learn. That is why I am introducing an influx of twenty new teachers to the faculty. I will in turn, enforce more immediate dismissals."

I rock my head to the sides of the auditorium. There are teachers I've never seen before. I didn't even notice they were completely new faces until now. There seems to be an even amount of male and female teachers. They look so distinguished like they're dressing for the part. Lab coat must equal science teacher. A welding mask and apron must mean shop class teacher? Maybe?

"So, be nice to our new teachers," he says. Third takes a pause. "Affected immediately. Everyone will wear school uniforms."

The audience moans in response. What the hell? Has Principle Third gone crazy or what? I look over at my friends and they're stunned as well. I stare back on stage. CJ and Emil come away from their stands and show what the uniforms look like. It looks like the boys have to wear a smart white long sleeve shirt, black formal pants and shoes. Girls the same but a pinafore skirt. If Teej was here he'd be the first to stand up to this.

Maddie stands up from her seat whilst everyone is still whining. "What about the cheerleaders?" asks Maddie at Third. "We have our own uniforms already!" she slams, stroking her purple and white skirt with M stitched on it for Maddie.

Third stokes his nose and wiggles his mustache. "What the cheerleaders and even the jock gentlemen have, are _sport_ clothes. So what you have can only be worn during P.E classes, pep rallies and during school competitions." Third turns to someone in the crowd standing up. "Yes?"

"Can't we just wear our own clothes?" ask someone. I look down and I notice it's Deshay. "It's not like it gets in the way of us learning in class. It's comfortable and it's how we express ourselves."

"No. This has been an unanimous decision between." Third stops and looks at the crowd again. "Yes son?" Third asks at Geoffrey whose stood up as well.

"Uh. What he said," goes Geoffrey, sitting back down to his seat.

"I'll make sure nothing will get in the way of your learning. There will be more changes. No one will be allowed outside class without a hallway pass. I've given Menlo more jurisdiction over everyone. As of now, room 404 will be the careers office where each student will have an opportunity each week to assess their current progress and look ahead to their future goals." Third turns over to Emil and CJ. "Thanks for listening. I'll now leave the electives to do the presidential debate for you," Third finishes, moving the mic stand and making his way through the curtains.

The stage is left for the two electives CJ and Emil, with small a podium ahead of each of them.

CJ taps here little mic making an echoing tap. "Um, hi everyone, we're ready for any of questions," she says.

"Tighty whities!" I hear someone shout from the audience above me.

The crowd begin to make a shared giggle. It becomes a little bit more contagious. _That's it!_ Emil Brizanka is Joey Finestock. He's the kid who got his pants torn and they had to be sewn up by Miss Finster. He _really_ did move schools and changed his name.

Emil scours the crowd until he hits on who said it. "That was five years ago, dickless!" he says into the mic as it screeches.

"People don't forget!" Wylie shouts out, with his hands cupped around his mouth.

I look up at the Jocks who are sat leaning against the back wall. I catch eyes with Vince. He looks at me and smiles his wide tooth filled grin at me. I don't smile back. He notices this and stares at the ground and plays it off like he's laughing with them. I turn back around on my seat. I don't care about this debate, so all of this is rip roaringly funny. Honestly it is. It's just Vince could try harder to hang out with us and support us, especially Teej, when it matters.

"Look," CJ laughs, moving her orangey hair, looking at Emil and then back at the audience. "Lets just start promising stuff, okay?"

"Yeah, well," replies Emil, calming down. "I believe in individual rights and things like that, so, if I win, I promise to improve the after school activities but more of the budget will be used for sports and the football team."

The football team make a shared howl of appreciation to that.

"I think the money will be better used for art and technology," argues CJ, straight after Emil pauses. "I mean, come on, Emil. We have a social responsibility, so if I win, I think the money should be spread evenly with creative arts and in helping the foreign language UN."

Emil laughs into his mic.

CJ looks over at him. "What you laughing at?" she goes at him.

"Oh, it's just that you're putting your trust in art and foreign languages which is cool and everything," he goes, shrugging over dramatically. "There's hardly any pay off in it. It's not like it has sponsorship deals or match coverage."

"Preach!" shouts Troy from the back.

I turn around to spot him out. Troy stares back at me like he's surprised I even would. He adjusts his face quickly into his calm smug look and waves slowly at me. Now he's pretending to look spaced out with a blank expression and he's still waving at me. Ugh. I turn back around. I hate Troy. He can never be serious for half a second.

Gretchen stands up from her seat near the front row. "Are the foreign exchange students getting accommodation?" asks Gretchen, adjusting her glasses. "They were going to leave by the new year and were promised they could stay longer."

"Well, Gretch," starts CJ. "I have the students in mind and I've talked to Thad and if you vote for me, I'll promise to get a room for each person who needs a place to live so they can stay here another semester."

Emil leans to his mic. "Er. Nope," he says.

"Hey!" goes one of the tech kids at the front.

"It's not really in my best interests. Sorry," adds Emil.

I lean towards Maddie. " _Hey Mad,_ " I whisper, trying to get her attention. She leans to me. " _Doesn't Thad cover all our costs, though?_ "

" _No Spin,_ " Maddie whispers back, as the tech kids and the crowd of foreign student squabble. " _The tuition we gave in means something now. But it's not like Principle Third couldn't afford it. He has to._ "

" _Yeah,_ " I say back to her in a low register, screwing my eyes towards the stage. "You're right."

* * *

Mikey, Gus, Gretchen and I agree to meet at the no thrills zone. Study hall. Us four go through and find a spot to beat our heads together. We'll probably get away with talking as loud as we want to. There ain't a teacher here yet. There ain't anyone here, actually. It's only us that's turned up here so far.

"How about that new uniform policy Thad sprung on us?" I ask the guys, sitting on a spare table. "Madame fist does _not_ like this."

"Spinelli," goes Gus, squinting at me hard. "You're already wearing a black pinafore skirt thing. You wear one almost everyday."

"Yeah, but you think I'm gonna be able to just strut around with my signature ski cap on? Where am I supposed to keep my phone now?"

Gretchen sighs, putting her books on to the table beside me. "Thaddeus T Third's idea is to probably promote less time on our phones," Gretchen suggests.

I pull a loose strand from my hair and flick it on Gretchen's blouse. She flicks it off with a moan. I laugh. "Having fun isn't illegal yet," I reply to her. I look over at Mikey. "You all right, big guy? You ain't said a word all morning."

"Oh. Yeah," goes Mikey, stepping closer. "It's odd not having TJ here, isn't?"

"Appropriate segway, Mikey," starts Gretchen, as her, Gus and Mikey take a seat around me. I cross my legs as I'm still on top of the table. "Spinelli, you don't have to be so relentlessly different. Come on."

I sigh and roll off the table. I take a seat besides Mikey.

"Now," announces Gretchen. "I'm glad you bought that up, Mikey. I thought I had an idea when TJ was under house arrest. You see, TJ mentioned that Tad White will be drooling over anticipation of incarcerating him. That's when I got a mental imagining of Ivan Pavlov's dogs who would salivate."

Mikey looks at Gretchen perplexed and Gus slowly slams his head on to the table.

"Can't you see? If I'm not mistaken, James Stone was using Pavlov's classic theory in conditioning to make our conditioned stimulus link up with an unconditioned stimulus," Gretchen continues.

"Earth to Gretchen," I say. "I don't think we follow you."

"It's simple psychology actually. Its not enough for him to get us in detention. He needs to make us do the bad things, make it seem like it will benefit us individually, so that when we _do_ get in trouble, the choices we make seems innate."

"Then, why hasn't James Stone tried to get _me_ into trouble?" I ask.

"With your current detention record, do you even think he has to?" replies Gretchen.

"Good point."

Gus starts to make a noise. "We need to stop him before he gets any one else expelled," Gus growns, slowly lifting his head from the table.

Mikey nods his head in agreement. "As far as we know he could disguise himself as one of those new teachers," Mikey says.

"Precisely, and I fear he won't cease until we meet a similar fate as TJ," Gretchen adds. "He's not relying on just conditioning us by trying to be our friends and manipulation anymore. If we can somehow find out who James Stone is posing as, then they'll _have to_ free TJ."

"Wowzers, that's a bit scary," gasps Gus. "We can't trust any of those new teachers."

"Meh, I knew that going in, James Stone or not," I say, with a shrug. "So, James Stone befriended and manipulated all of you?"

Everyone nods back at me.

"Well, five bucks says that's why Vince sunk Foley's car, then," I say, looking around at the gang. "I gotta admit. I'm not exactly thrilled to find I've been the only one left out."

* * *

 **The school's transformed into a bunch of smartly dressed looking Jesus Freaks.** I have to refrain from pinching myself, let alone punching myself. Everyone is in their school uniforms. Apart from the Wall street kids, who were already dressing smart, before Principle Third decided to change things. No scratch that. Even the Wall Street kids used to have colored ties with long trench coats and stuff. We don't wear ties. Only the option to undo the top button. All the different looking groups have been sucked into a black and white void. I can hardly tell apart whose who anymore.

I stare harder at my mirror that I attached inside of my locker.

Gretchen joins my reflection from beside me. She parts the hair away from my eyes for me. "You don't have to sulk so hard, Spinelli. You're not the only one having to conform to this new regime," she says.

I stare back at her and then at my own reflection **. "** But this new regime's gonna be the death of me," I sigh, looking down at Gretchen's books she's clutching. I turn around at her. I take her books from her and hold them close to my chest. "Uh, excuse me _ma'am_? Do you believe in our Lord and savior Señor Fusion? Would you like to be superficially converted into one of us? It would be _ever_ so fun." I smile sweetly and flutter my eyes at her.

Gretchen laughs at me as she takes her books back. "I see your point. I was ready to slam my imaginary door in your face," chuckles Gretchen.

"Yeah, well," I say, slamming my locker shut. "There's no way we'd have to wear these for a day if Teej was here."

Gretchen and I make our way down the hallway.

I look over at her. "This is gonna take a bit of time to get used to, ain't it Gretch?" I ask.

Gretchen doesn't respond. She's still looking ahead of us.

"Gretch?" I ask her again, waving my hand across her face.

She catches my hand and puts it back down by my sides. I track Gretchen's eyes and what she's staring at it. I turn my head to the side. Bradley? It's Bradley in the school uniform walking towards us. He gives Gretchen and I an eyebrow raise to acknowledge us. _He goes to our school now? Since when?_ He's not stopping still as he heads inside room 404. He was supporting TJ back in December. I guess he could make a good addition to the gang if he wants to.

I walk Gretchen to the open door of her tutor class. I have this weird tendency to wanna look after her. I'd pretty much only go in a physical altercation with anyone if that person was trying to hurt Gretch.

I take a good look at Deshay whose standing by Gretchen's tutor class. He couldn't look any more uncomfortable. "Looking sharp, Deshay," I chuckle at him.

He looks at me disheveled. The plainest he's been ever. "Don't look at me," Deshay says, parting his head away from us. "I'm depressed enough to become an emo. That being said," he goes, nodding his head at the emo's direction. "We don't look so much different now."

He's not wrong. The emos have their hair back to their original natural colors. All of them wearing white and black too. Their shoes maybe not _smart_ smart, but not exactly sneakers for them to get into trouble.

Deshay pulls up his backpack around his shoulder. He's never wore a bag before. "See you at tutor, Gretchen," he grumbles, as he walks inside.

Gretchen and I stare at each other and share a giggle. This is not what I expected for the new year. I let Gretchen make her way into tutor as I do the same.

I walk to my class and take my seat to the far left behind Mikey.

Mr Dude calls out the names in the register as each person responds back that they're here.

He's getting to the S's.

"Molly Sanchez?" he calls.

I look around. Molly's not here. Mr Dude waits a few seconds then he calls my name out. The door opens and before I can respond it's Molly coming in fashionably late. And when I say fashionably, I mean that. She's wearing the new boring get-up like everyone else. But. Her hair. Molly's hair is still bright pink as it's always been. It's taking everyone by surprise because every single eye is on her from the moment she apologizes for being late, to the moment she sits down adjacent to Troy.

Molly looks around at the class. "Um, hi everyone," she greets. "Did I turn up too late or something?"

"Hey! What the hell?" goes Keira, a girl in tutor who hangs around with the emos. She used to have blue highlights. "Why does _she_ get to have her hair pink still?"

"What?" goes Molly.

I can't front. That's actually a pretty friggin' valid question. What's Molly playing at?

"All right, calm down," says Mr Dude at Keira. He studies Molly. "Molly, you _do_ _know_ part of uniform is to comply with having no dye in the hair, right?"

"Huh?" goes Molly again.

"Yeah," Keira says, jumping on Mr Dude's side. "He means, lose the pinkness."

"Hey!" goes Molly, holding her hair like they've got their own feelings and she's protecting them. "I thought we had a choice, though?"

"Sorry, it's school policy," Mr Dude says with a shrug. "And you have to get rid of it now I'm afraid. Could anyone escort Molly to someone who could have a look at removing it?"

"Wow!" Troy sounds out with a smile. "That's _cold_ , sir."

I laugh at the other side of the classroom. "He means undying her hair, not cutting it," I say.

"I know what he—" Troy starts, looking back at me. He turns his attention to Molly.

Molly begins to cry into quiet sobbing. The room is quiet. Nobody's stepping up to help her.

I sigh. "Oh, all right. I'll do it!" I say, getting up from my chair.

Maddie stands up from her seat too. "If Spinelli's going. I'm going," says Maddie. She looks around the classroom and then down at Ashley A, who she always sits next to. "You coming, Ashley?"

"Sure I'll." Ashley A starts, as she springs up from her seat. She looks directly at me. "On second thought. I won't."

Maddie looks at Ashley A then at me. " _Oh 'kay,"_ Maddie says, really slowly. _"_ Whatever. Lets go."

Maddie and I walk Molly up to the door and she looks at Mr Dude. "Don't wait up on us," Maddie says to him.

I walk us back in the direction of Gretchen's tutor class. I knock three times on the door. Miss Schwartz invites us in. Maddie catches up with Molly weeping in her arms.

I open the door. "Can we have Gretchen please? It's urgent," I ask, looking to see where she is.

The class turns and looks at Gretchen. It ain't even that urgent but Molly's Hollywood crying is selling a story we don't even have. Changing someone's hair color isn't really that much of an excuse, but you'd think someone's died or something by the way Molly's reacting.

Miss Schwartz puts down her book. "Certainly, if it's an emergency. You are pardoned, Gretchen. Make haste," she says, as she lets her leave.

Gretchen gets up and follows us out of the classsroom. We return back down the hall. "What's the emergency?" asks Gretchen.

"Gretchen," I say, stopping her midway in the hallway. "What do you know about removing hair dye?"

* * *

The four us are in the girls bathroom. Maddie is using the spare latex gloves Gretchen had from her AP science lab. We should have enough dye remover to get rid of Molly's pink locks. Molly's head's bent down over the sink with Maddie helping her. Gretchen and I stand as bystanders as we lean against the stall. The convo changed from talking about suspicious teachers, the new uniforms, who we're voting for and saving TJ. The bare mention of a boy has started Mad off. Now the talk is about cute boys.

How typically shameful and naive of us.

Maddie hums out a tune and then laughs out loud. "You like Bradley, then?" asks Maddie at Gretchen.

"Well, _he is_ a perfect specimen," Gretchen replies, rather bluntly crossing her arms. "He's smart. His IQ is of the higher quartiles like mine. What's not to like?"

Maddie looks a bit confused. "So you're saying, if you and Bradley were alone in one of these stalls and he said 'Gretchen lets make out', you'd do it?" asks Maddie, relentless for Gretchen to give a solid answer.

"In the stall alone? That would be a paradox if you couldn't see us. We'd both be kissing and not kissing. You know, Schrödinger's theory and all," Gretchen replies.

"No I don't know," says Maddie, stopping momentarily on Molly's hair. "Gretchen, you're not making it easy for me to tease you."

I sigh under my breath. "That's cause she's unteaseable," I reply.

"No I'm not," argues Gretchen. "And unteaseable isn't a word."

Maddie giggles still focusing on washing Molly's hair. "You're so unteaseable, Gretchen," adds Maddie. "Your unteaseability is off the charts."

"Yeah," I laugh. "Stop bombarding us with your unteaseality."

Molly pulls her head up from the sink. "Unteaseification," Molly adds, with a straight face looking at the mirror.

I smile back at her. "Aye, nice one," I say.

"How do I look?" asks Molly, as she shrewdly looks at her own appearance.

I dunno. Molly's wet messy hair is a very light brunette now.

Gretchen smiles back at Molly's reflection off the mirror. "Normal. You look like us," says Gretchen.

Molly sighs.

"It's okay," says Maddie, side hugging Molly and then letting go. She reaches for her pink ties in her hair and unties them. "You can borrow my pink hair ties. But," she says stopping. " _Don't_ lose 'em. These are very important to me. Okay?"

Molly smiles and turns around in front of Maddie so she can tie them on for her.

* * *

"I still don't know what I wanna do with my life, but heck, it's not like me becoming a mixed martial artist is still out of the question," I admit.

Matthew Hewitt sits on the opposite side of his desk. He rests his hand on his shabby beard. His professor like suit jacket with these cut out leather elbow patches. "You have as much chance as becoming the new principle. Tomorrow," he says, rubbing his eyes underneath his black tinted sunglasses on his face. "That's what you want, right? To get rid of these church clothes he has you lot wearing."

"How'd you know I don't like them?" I ask.

"Who does?" answers Hewitt with a blunt smile. "We can all dream. For instance, I wish I wasn't so hungover this morning, meaning I wouldn't have to bust my hump getting up, which required a lot of _discipline and hard work_. Then I take look at your grades and I see you need, _a lot of discipline and hard work,_ " he goes, looking inside my folder, taking a sip from his Sirenbucks coffee. The little green mermaid logo in the middle of the filter cup.

Room 404 seems so big compared to all the other rooms on the ground floor. If it weren't for the obviously brushed up motivational posters, college prospectuses and part time job and extra curricular leaflets, it would be neat. The dooming feel of pressure of finding a job, any job like Gus, hits me right in the face. Matthew Hewitt is fast-with-it in his responses but his black shades make it hard to tell whether he's still awake or not.

I look at Hewitt. He hasn't said anything for a while. "Sir?" I ask.

"Mathew's cool. Do I look like a knight in the round table to you? There's no need to call me Sir. Ever. To be completely upfront though, Spinelli," says Matthew, as he finishes off his coffee to the last drops, then chucking it to the bin's direction. "If I wanted to make a living bursting young kid's bubbles, I'd be a clown."

"I don't get it. What do you mean?" I ask.

"If you're serious about making this a life choice, I'm not gonna stop you. Buck up on your grades, join a boxing club, get in a physical altercation, I don't know. Just don't sit around doing nothing, cause, you'll end up a careers counselor just like me."

"Thanks Matthew, I think."

I wish I had a better look at this James Stone guy. If Stone is the new counselor, I gotta admit, he's good. Only now did I just notice he wants me to get in a fight.

"How long we got left?" Matthew asks, looking at a tanning mark on his arm where his watch probably used to be.

"I dunno," I say, shrugging. "I used to rely on my phone and wedge it in my hat, but both of those are in my locker right now."

"Okay, you can leave. You are hereby reprieved, _Sir Spinelli,_ " he yawns, scrubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. He gets up from his desk. He opens the door and peeks his head around. A student walks by. "Hey you. What's the time?"

It's Susan clenching books to her chest. "It's 10:15," she replies, checking her watch. "Hey sir, how are you? Can I ask you just one question. I—?"

"You just did," Matthew sighs, closing the door on Susan.

"I'm supposda stay and discuss more options for another ten minutes," I say.

"They don't give you guys any freedom to just mess around then, huh?" he says.

Matthew Hewitt returns back to his seat behind his desk. He runs through magazines with me. We waste time pretty much doodling on the smiling faces on the pages.

Career Corner comes to a close. I leave the room and head to my next class. I go up to the second level of the school.

It's shop class. I make my way inside. The inside of a car is displayed in the front of class. Bikes in the process of being prepared is in the foreground. Buzz saws. Carving machines. All the power tools are just waiting to be used by us. I'm only really good at this class cause engineering is easy to me like breathing, it's all practicals and there is nothing I have to revise.

Geoffrey's already sat down on the woodworking bench, so I sit in my assigned seat beside him. The class slowly fills up.

The door slams open. This creepy dude comes into class. He's not necessary really tall in the way of intimidating but its his face. It's, well, I can't see his face. I saw him yesterday in the auditorium. He has a pale white welder mask on. The scars that protrude from around his face down to his arms are exposed with the checker vest he's wearing.

He walks over to the board. "Mr _Hackwell's_ been feeling _unwell,_ " he says, in a muffle.

Geoffrey laughs out load and then stops. "It rhymed," Geoffrey points out.

The creeper teacher laughs a muffled howl then stops abruptly, looking directly at Geoffrey. The class stays silent. The laugh was maniacal to say the least. I can tell the whole class is freaked out by him. He's a substitute and no one's trying any tricks. He's more weirder than that Mr E back in Third Street.

This horror movie trope of a teacher picks up the chalk and looks oddly at it like he doesn't know what it does. He just stares at it. He turns back around and writes Mr Cutter on the board with it.

I raise my hand up, until he notices me. "Mr Cutter?" I ask.

"Yes?" he goes.

"Are you gonna take the mask off or—?"

"The mask stays on."

Geoffrey huffs out in confusion. "Really?" asks Geoffrey. Mr Cutter walks up into Geoffrey's face until their noses are touching. "Because that's a great idea, sir. It really suits you."

What crappy job listing website did Principle Third get these teachers from?

The class goes pretty smoothly after his introduction. Mr Cutter knows his stuff. Everything he does though is unorthodox. He doesn't mind if we're not wearing safety equipment. He turned on a crashed computer by hitting upside the monitor with a hammer. He hasn't learned anyone's names and he's given everyone in the class weird nicknames.

It's mid way through the lesson and the class surround the open display of the car's bonnet. I refrain from answering all the questions.

"Scenario," says Mr Cutter. "You're stranded alone with your vehicle. The battery dies. What do you do?"

Someone sticks their hand up. "You have to jump start it with another car."

"No," Mr Cutter replies, removing the battery from the car. "I said you are stranded _alone_. There are no other cars."

I rub my hair. "What are you supposed to do? Wait for a lighting bolt to hit your car?" I ask.

"Urine," he goes, in a dark grimy voice.

The class share groans at how gross that is.

"Disgusting, sure, girl-with-bangs," says Mr Cutter at me. "But have you ever considered that urine is a bio fluid? If you put it into an electrolytic cell of the car it can separate out the hydrogen."

"Yeah but hydrogen's less tightly bond in urine," I go.

Geoffrey nudges me. "Gretch said science wasn't your best subject."

"It's mechanics not science," I reply to him.

Mr Cutter cuts in. "You use a water filter to purify the urine. You use a gas cylinder to filter it and then remove moisture from the gas. The hydrogen is pushed to generate the power," he explains. "But if you don't use a one way valve, _then_ it will be like be hitting by lightning."

Geoffrey laughs a little bit and the class join in.

"It's not funny," goes Mr Cutter, putting the battery back in the display bonnet, making everyone go quiet again.

This Mr Cutter knows his stuff. I didn't know urine could be used as fuel and charge a battery before. The gang gave me the impression that James Stone had this certain intellect about him. His creepiness factor wasn't a problem like this substitute teacher though. But Mr Cutter is another suspect on the list.

* * *

It's last period. Today's been draining. I've narrowed down the James Stone suspects to about seven male teachers. I actually went to computer lab during study hall. I printed out all the information on these teachers I could find when I should be studying. But this is freshman year. It's not like it matters.

Class starts to pile up. I find my usual wooden stool near the back of class. There is an empty stool next to me right where TJ used to sit. The gang and I have to figure out a way to get Teej out of juvie. He's the only one who'd make up a plan at a time like this. He's not about to bust himself out of kid jail himself, is he?

"Anyone sitting here?" asks some girl.

Oh no. I know this girl. It's Molly. She's standing there straightening her plain brunette hair. I forgot we had to remove the pink dye. She's unrecognizable when it's not bright and mermaid-like anymore.

I nod and move to the side to give her space. "Pull up a stool," I reply.

It's in the midst of class. I'm just using most of the dark colors on my pallet to paint and Molly's doing the exact opposite with bright yellow and baby blue.

"Hey yah," says Molly, waving her paint brush getting some flicks of diluted paint everywhere. "If you could be anybody? Do anything? What would it be?"

Molly is still focused on her painting not looking at me. But she said it louder than necessary if she's trying to talk to herself. I decide to answer her anyway. I had the same question earlier, so I tell her what I said to Matthew. A mixed martial artist. Which is a type of art I guess.

"Oh my gosh, really? I would be your manager and all you have to do is knock everybody out," she replies, ecstatically.

"Well?" I ask her back after a pause.

"Well what?" replies Molly, with a blank canvas expression, finally looking at me.

"What about you?"

"You'll laugh at me," she sighs.

"I promise, I won't laugh," I lie, hardly preparing myself for what she's gonna come up with.

"I've always wanted to write new screenplays and animate My Fuzzy Unicorn," she says, fiddling with her virtual pet chain. "Since pre-K, I wanted to marry a unicorn prince. I've grown out of it to know it's stupid. I just want to do something that requires little to no work, and it has to abide to my fun-o-logy religion. That's a deal breaker."

"It's not stupid," I say. "It's just. My Fuzzy Unicorns are all girls. They're all asexual. You couldn't marry a unicorn prince even if you wanted to. I guess, we've all had that paper fortune teller moment when we could believe we can be anything."

Matthew Hewitt's words coming right out of my mouth.

Art is over and done with.

Molly and I get to my locker, with Maddie and Ashley T waiting either side of it.

Maddie, with her witty grin, stares right at Ashley T. My locker is the only space in between them. "You have to learn to get airborne soon," says Maddie to Ashley T. "How are you supposed to pump up the boys if you're denying them to see a flicker up your skirt?"

Ashley T huffs and rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Mad," replies Ashley T. Ashley notices me as I reach my combination to open my locker. "Hey Spin."

"Bitches," I greet to the two of them. "You two mind Molly tagging along?"

"No," says Ashley T.

"Yeah," says Maddie.

"She's joking," I say to Molly. "What's on the agenda today?" I initiate, turning to the other two.

Molly gasps from behind me. "You skateboard?" asks Molly cutting in the conversation.

I look back at her quickly and she's totally transfixed on my board. I give her a _no duh_ expression.

Maddie crosses her arms, leaning on the lockers. She clicks with her tongue making popping noises. "We can waste time _failing_ at skateboarding," suggests Maddie. "But Stoner Highway Skate Rink is always busy 'round about know."

Ashley T beams her sweet smile and feels her hand through her wavy permed hair. "We can use the empty swimming pool at my house," offers Ashley T. "My dad hasn't filled it with water, in like, forever."

" _Cools,_ " says Molly. "I have to stop off at Kelso' first—"

"To see Gus?" I ask, cutting her off from finishing.

Molly looks at me with a serious face. Her rosy cheeks disappear. "I need sweets or I'll die," Molly replies.

All three of us laugh at Molly. She's saying it like candy is her life saving prescription medication. I stop laughing as Maddie and Ashley T continue to. I think Molly's serious. Molly leaves. Is she mad at us? She's going off to another locker, and with a flick of her combination lock she takes out a pair of pink roller blades. I guess she ain't. Good. She needs thick skin to hang around with us anyway.

I take my skateboard out of my locker. I pop my woolly ski cap on my head. I kiss my phone. Oh, how I've missed it. I put it in the crease of my cap. I fold my homework four times and put in my hat as well. Molly comes back as now the four us make our way out of school. A few tech kids walk passed us. It's weird how some people wanna stay after school here. I like it here but not _that_ much. Gees. The end of school should belong to us.

We take our steps down the entrance of the school. I kick push ahead of them to feel my skateboard roll a bit. I glide around the statue of Thad as I wait for the rest of the girls to catch up. We make our way to the sidewalk. Maddie begins to gossip about something or other. I ain't paying much attention.

A car honks at us. Ugh. What creep has the audacity to honk his horn at four fourteen year old girls?

I ignore whoevers doing it.

"Rumor has it that CJ's got the Wall street kids, tech kids, United Nerds and pretty much every foreign vote locked down," says Maddie.

"She has _my_ vote," Ashley T goes.

I decide to join in. "Anythings an improvement from Tightie Whities. He's such a—" I try to say.

"Ashley!" shouts someone from inside the car. I know that car. It's Joey in his low rider with his arm resting outside his scrolled down windows.

A car honks again but it's not Joey this time. Cars are driving around Joey. A guy shouts at him. Oh, that's right. Joey's driving on the wrong side of the road, and to top it off, he's driving slow enough to catch down to us. It really says something if you're driving too slow in a school zone. That's how I know Joey's up to no good.

Maddie stops still looking ahead all confused, and then slowly turns at us three. "Are we just gonna _pretend_ like this isn't happening?" asks Maddie.

I stop walking as well, trying not to look at Joey. "Mom and Dad said I can't talk to you!" I shout back at Joey, who stops his car from driving slow in the wrong direction.

Joey's completely not phased as he flips the bird a few times towards frustrated drivers who are forced to drive around him. "I'm not about to abduct my _own_ sister," Joey laughs, now in earshot of us.

I kick my board up. "Fine," I say.

The three of the girls squeal in delight together at the same time. It's like they were just waiting for me to give in as much as Joey was.

Maddie races to the passenger seat. "I call shotgun!" she shouts, getting inside the car.

The girls swing open Joey's car doors. I let out a sigh. Molly takes her roller blades from around her neck and taps on the boot of the car. That's enough of a signal for Joey to unlock the back of it still seating down in his driver seat. Molly offers to do the same with my board and takes it. I get in the back seat next to Ashley T, with a space in the middle of us. Before we really acknowledge the space between us, Molly climbs over my lap and sits snugly in the middle. Joey turns the car around in the road and finally goes the right direction.

I don't wanna defy my parents unless I have to. But. My dad won't know I was with Joey if I don't mention it. Seeing Joey shouldn't have to be a choice though.

Maddie turns up the music in the car. Joey keeps checking up on me on his reverse mirror. I wanna yell at him but it's probably not that wise to get on his bad side when he's driving.

Joey parks up his car next to the Quick-O mart. Kelso's being right next to it. The girls leave the car and don't really seem to notice when I'm not coming with them. Joey looks a bit surprised when they walk straight passed the store and head inside Kelso's, which have limited options compared to it.

I'm still in the backseat. Joey and I stay silent for a bit. He's not looking back in the rear view mirror at me anymore. I sigh. I get out, walk around and sit in the passenger seat.

"So," starts Joey, looking around at me. "How was school?"

"I wanna ask some questions first. What are you lot keeping from me?" I ask.

"You want me to tell you? Like, really tell you everything?" asks Joey.

"I'm all ears, bro."

Joey let's out a sigh. "I can't."

"What? What the hell is this?" I start.

"Okay, okay. Your folks aren't who they seem. I mean, they are your parents, but they've kept their mouths shut for years. You went to Rome for protection, you were _this_ close to having your name changed," he says, almost pressing his index finger to his thumb.

"Protection from what?" I ask.

"I really don't know specifically, but I'm just mad that Dad doesn't keep it a hundred with you. He sugarcoats the truth like you're a little baby. He still calls you princess, for gods sake."

I hate this. Everything's so damn cryptic. Joey starts to say something more but he stops. Maddie, Ashley T and Molly come back in the car. With everyone settled again, Joey drives us up to Ashley T's house.

Ashley T's house is huge. It's a mansion. The driveway is long and fancy as if this place has a car park of it's own. The view is posh. There's a tennis court on the side of the house. Plants being grown in the front like bouquets by gardeners. The back of the mansion has acres of land.

"Ashley?" I ask her. "How many people do you live with again?"

"Five. Why?" she replies.

"Oh, nothing."

I take my skateboard out of Joey's trunk as Molly takes out her roller blades. The girls go ahead of me to Ashley's house. Joey honks his horn at me. I walk over to the driver's side.

"You're friends with rich girls in high places," Joey says, looking impressed as he nods with his lip stuck out. "I like."

"It's not like that," I reply.

"She's one of those unbearable Ashleys I used to hear so much about. _She_ at least seems nice," says Joey, tapping his wheel with a smile. He gets serious again. "Sorry I have to be so damn discreet. Just don't, don't treat everything as they seem, okay? Trust me on this. I didn't get thrown out of the house and practically disowned for just disobeying."

* * *

 **Mr Dude does our roll call and reaches Molly's name with no answer.**

"Molly? Molly?" repeats Mr Dude, looking around the class. **  
**  
It's a repeat of yesterday. A déjà vu of annoyance. Some people stare back at the empty seat Molly would sit at in the center of the room. Maddie hums a tune out loud while she's tapping her fingernails on her desk. Everyone's attention zones towards her.

"Spinelli?" Mr Dude asks me.

"Um," I start, turning my head over at Maddie on the other side.

Maddie's humming gets louder. She's smiling to herself, bobbing her head and even Mr Dude is looking freaked out.

Mr Dude puts his registration folder down. "Maddie, I love your high optimism this morning, but are you—?" he begins to ask.

"All right?" Maddie says, finishing Mr Dude's question. She moves her hair back with trembling fingers. "You could say that. I'm totally okay that I don't have my hair ties today. It's only something I've had since kindergarten. They've just been passed down through my family's generations and nothing bad has ever happened to me without them on. _That's all._ Some girls believe in star signs. I believe in my hair ties."

I turn on my seat to face Maddie. "Where you last seem them?" I ask her from the other side of the room.

"With Molly," Maddie replies, tensing up still. "She forgot to give it back to me after we were hanging out after school. You, me, her and Ashley."

"Huh?" goes Ashley A, spinning her head next to Maddie.

"T," Maddie corrects.

"What?" Troy asks, leaning his arm around his chair at Maddie.

"No. Not you, Troy. Tomassion," replies Maddie, sounding more annoyed at each time she barks back.

Troy changes to his look when he's ready to annoy. "You got me confused for a cheerleader?" asks Troy, making Maddie tilt her head at him, her mouth slightly gaping open. "If they mean so much to you, why didn't you ask for them? _Then?_ "

Maddie screws her eyes at him.

" _Never mind,_ " says Troy, turning back around on his chair, away from Maddie's scary stare.

Class settles down again. I adjust back in my chair. I look from the empty seat of Molly to the empty seat of TJ's, where he would sit two desks ahead of me. Mr Dude hides a smirk as Maddie gets calmed down by people around her. I answer my name to the register.

Girls are whispering behind me. I can't think. They're going on about how handsome Mr Dude is again.

I turn around to confront them with a nice greet. "Yeah so, it's cool you two have this little thing for Mr Dude, but could you refrain with the romancing? It's sorta stinking up my air."

"Oh, sorry Spinelli," replies Darneme.

Rosie bucks up beside her. "Can you really blame us? His smile. His chiseled jaw line. How his hair stands up like that. He's just, perfect. We love him."

I rub my eyes hard. "What? Well. He's not old yet, but—" I start, thinking over. I look at Mr Dude and back at them who are still mesmerized by him. "Right. I'm being genuine to the max. How can you two fall in love with him? Someone you've got zero chance with?"

" _Spinelli,_ " says Darneme, with smirk, coming up to my desk. She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face Mr Dude. Rosie creeps up to my other side. "It's not about having a chance with him. That's not even the point."

"Then what is the point?" I ask, somehow interested enough not to shrug her off of me yet.

"The point is," starts Rosie, close to my other ear. "Mr Dude is our reason of being. Our shining light on our very dull day to day of high school. One day, maybe his radiant cuteness will make you a _Dudibuff_ too."

Rosie and Darneme go back to their desks. A Dudibuff? Really? I stare at Mr Dudikoff as he smiles back in my direction. I smile back. Yep. Those girls have lost it. Crushes belong to people who can't face reality.

Tutor class is finished. I leave the classroom as Maddie follows me down the hallway. Maddie hasn't given up her frustration. It's nothing new. I've seen Maddie mad a bunch of times at school already.

We stop by some random lockers.

"You okay, Maddie?" I ask her.

Maddie breaths in and breaths out. She punches someone's locker, completely denting the door's frame. "Yep. You?" she asks.

Gus comes our way. I greet him but he looks devastated at the messed up locker. Oh. That must be _his_ locker. That's bad luck. He looks over at Maddie whose fixing a haunting grin back at him.

Gus gulps at Maddie. "If that could of been avoided that would have been great, but, Molly has something to tell you."

Maddie switches on Gus and grabs his shirt. "What?" she goes, pulling his collar and throwing him against the wall.

I step in trying to push her off Gus. "Hear him out," I go.

Maddie shrugs me off to the side, making me hit the noticeboard. "What is it? Huh? Molly's sent you to say how much she loves stealing my things?"

Tutor classes start forming around us. Teachers and students just staring at what Maddie's doing. No one's chanting for a fight. It's so one sided. Plus everyone's still half asleep.

Maddie throws a helpless Gus to the ground. She stands looking over him. Both her fists clenched. Poor Gus. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"What's she got to say? What?" repeats Maddie.

Gus, still on his back, pulls out pink head ties from his pocket and holds them out towards Maddie. "Molly's sick. She said they're special to you, right?" pants Gus.

Maddie slowly takes the head ties from Gus. She looks around at everyone's shocked faces. I rub my arm where she pushed me against the wall. I don't even think completely uncalled for is the word. It's apparent that those head ties hold some super mystical powers and Maddie needs some serious anger management.

 _I_ wouldn't even get this mad.

"Gus I,I," Maddie says at Gus still petrified on the floor. She turns around at me. "Spinelli, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm." She whips her head back and forth, really seeing the extent of the damage she's caused. "Guys, I'm sorry."

Maddie begins to tear up and make blubbering noises.

Everyone just stares at her.

She can apologize all she wants but the damage is kinda already done.

* * *

 **Saturdays are only Saturdays when I'm with Joey.** Lounging on his probably stolen sofa and watching his probably stolen TV. His bungalow is a cutesy little house but the opened up food and junk everywhere more than decreases it's property value. Some of his friends are what he calls 'wasted' on the floor. Their mouths gaping open.

Joey moves through his trash. "Stop smoking in front of my baby sister!" shouts Joey, snatching this long-metal-vase thing off of Antonio.

Joey lights the vase thing himself and puts his lips to it. He sucks the stuff in and then blows out some smoke. I would leave if the smoke was unbearable but it doesn't smell of cigarette smoke.

"Well?" I ask Joey.

"Hmm? Well, getting into juvie is nothing but getting out is borderline impossible," says Joey, coughing out some smoke. He looks over at his friends. "Okay, seriously you guys, show some respect to Asher. It's a like pig sty's _pig sty_ in here."

Joey's friends start to pick up from themselves. Some start to wake up and get to their feet. They pick up the opened up pizza boxes, cheese-zits, Winger Dingers, wrappers of chocolate and empty cans of soda. Joey just kicks the rubbish underneath a chair with a slight toe poke.

"You're useless," I say to him. "I thought because you escaped from juvie when you were like my age you could—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Joey goes, poking his finger at me. "It was a masterstroke of genius and a bit of good fortune," he continues, peeling sellotape off of three connected TV remote controllers.

Antonio pauses sweeping wrappers across the floor. "More like a fluke," mutters Antonio.

"You owe me rent," says Joey, pointing a finger at Antonio.

I look at the five guests he has that were lounging around. Doing nothing. "I thought you lived alone?" I ask Joey.

"It's not really squatting if your friends pay," Joey goes, placing the now separated remote controllers in a straight line and putting the sellotape in his pocket. "I just go a bit, you know, coo coo if I'm living by myself for too long. Dunno what I'm capable of. Anyhoozes, I got something to show ya. I think you're gonna like it."

We leave his squashed bungalow, through his small kitchen to enter inside his next door garage. It's Joey's 'Grand Thrift Auto' repair shop. The name of his shop is a play on words but with the way my brother's organizing everything, it's seems more than appropriate. He has his tools and start-up equipment. He has a lot more cars in here this time. Mostly second hand vehicles and stuff. A few Sedans, a convertible, a pick up truck and his car sits in the middle as his pride and joy.

"You stop stealing cars yet?" I ask him.

Joey walks away. "Picture this. A damn repo man wants to take my wheels for a spin, yeah? With no notice he just starts to take it away. I was all, ' _I'm not having it'_ , so I strapped on a bigger chain lever and I take his truck _and_ take my car back."

"So what?"

" _So what?_ " Joey asks back. "This is what you're gonna use to save the homie," Joey says, wiping the cloth gleefully on the side mirror.

The pickup truck is in pretty bad shape. It's all dented up. The bumpers are dangling off of it.

"Okay, and we're talking _hypothetics_ here. Forget that the truck is stolen. Forget that I'm going towards a detention center with a stolen trunk. Forget that the rims and outer exterior are shot and needs a lot of work," I say, catching my breath. "Joey. I can't drive."

"I've seen you use the arcade simulator a bunch of times. Besides, I'm not allowed in fifty feet of any detention center. I'm sure you have someone in your group of friends who can drive or has driven before," Joeys says, throwing his oil stained towel over his shoulder. "Set up a crew. Make up a plan, then boom. Infiltrate. Execute—"

"What?" I shout.

"Okay. Maybe _subdue_ a few guards and then you can set your little Theodore Roosevelt back popping to freedom. You said he didn't pull that stunt, right? So you figure out a way to track down this Stoner guy?" Joey asks.

"No, no not yet," I reply.

Joey goes back to fixing his cars. There's nothing for me here. I head back inside his bungalow. _Oh my god!_ That's Troy. What the hell is he doing here? Troy's turned up and he's sitting on the couch I was earlier. I walk back into the small kitchen. I don't think he's seen me. I spot my reflection off the shiny toaster, fixing up my hair and making sure nothings on my face. I show my teeth to myself. There's no way I'm gonna let him find something on me for him to make fun of.

I walk back inside and sit next to Troy. I look at him and then back at the TV. He's not even looking at me. He's not saying anything. The wrestling's starting. Why isn't Troy talking to me? If _he's_ not gonna say anything. _I'm_ not gonna say anything.

It's Wrestle mania Reign of Pain.

The Blood sport TV announcer begins to fill us in. " _Last week, Killer McGee had a not so kind welcome as the Reign of Pain number one contender!_ "

It's a back stage brawl replay between four or so wrestlers. Killer McGee is getting attacked by his enemies' entourage. There are tables, ladders and steel chairs used against him in an ambush. This cripples McGee and it's lowering the chances of retaining his title for Reign of Pain superstar.

Troy still hasn't talked once. Good. It's almost as if he isn't even here. Next to the couch, Troy's got some car parts or something.

The wrestlers make their entrances to the ring. Killer McGee comes out with his championship belt. The fireworks fly out with his Heavy Metal intro theme music. He bends down to the second rope and jabs hooks in the air to pump himself up. The audience are holding up cardboard signs. The crowd go "Killer! Killer! Killer!" as he salutes them in each corner of the ring's turnbuckle. Bare Knuckle Jones enters the arena to a sea of boos. He walks to the ring, eyeing up McGee and cracking his knuckles.

The match starts with each wrestler grappling each other, competing to see whose stronger. Next are suplexes, dives from the top rope and Leg lock submissions. The works. The camera leaves the ring and shows a new person coming on to the scene. It's a starlet, Dominitro. All the female wrestlers always look like they're practically models. She goes towards the ring as the cameraman takes more notice to her than the match.

Troy, still looking at the TV, makes a sigh. "The referee is gonna get distracted by Dominitro," says Troy, outta nowhere.

"What are you talking about?" I reply, with my eyes still glued on the screen. "She's just turned up."

That's odd. The referee is now arguing with Dominitro and he's completely ignoring the match behind him. How did Troy guess that? Well, it's not like this has never happened before. The referee must be more interested with her cleavage than pinning a winner.

Troy continues. "When the referee is not looking, Bare Knuckle Jones is gonna take his signature hammer out from under the ring."

I laugh out loud. "I doubt it. He still might get DQ'ed, though."

Bare Knuckle seizes his opportunity and he takes a hammer out. He hits McGee over the head. It gets censored because it's daylight programming. I stare back at Troy. He got another one right. He's found a new way to annoy me. This hurts. The little child in me that loves wrestling feels like she's shriveling up into an OAP.

"Nope," says Troy with a sigh. "Dominitro and the ref are making up a beef. He's gonna get away with it. The referee is gonna suddenly notice when Bare Knuckle Jones has McGee pinned down on the mat. He's gonna win."

As soon as Troy says this the referee breaks up his argument with Dominitro. It looks like they were jabbering nonsense. Troy was right.

"One. Two. Three," goes Troy to himself, getting up with his belongings and leaving through the front door.

The TV continues playing on. The referee slides back to the action and slams a three count pin fall.

Troy knew everything that was gonna happen before it did. It's not even like this one is a repeat. This episode is definately new. He completely killed wrestling for me.

I get off the coach and go out the front door after him.

"Hey!" I shout at Troy, whose not slowing down at all for me. I jog up to him. "How did you even—?" I stop myself. He's probably right about wrestling. There's no way he would have known everything that would of happened unless it wasn't real. We're still walking away from Joey's place. "So, why were you at my brother's house?"

Troy raises up the car parts he has and shows it to me at my eye level.

"What's it for?" I ask. "Wait. Don't tell me. Something dangerous or stupid I recon."

"It's for my sister," replies Troy, with a groan.

He's definitely not being himself right now. I guess I'll tone it down a little bit.

I keep following him. "How old's your sister?"

"Eight."

"What's an eight year old gonna do with car parts?"

Troy is still striding forward now crossing the street. "I know you're in love with me, but being a stalkarazzi like this doesn't suit you."

"Ugh!" I groan. "That's one of those stupid words you make up, ain't it?" Troy's face finally breaks into a smile. "And I'm not in love with you. I couldn't be further away from it. Why don't you ask out Maddie? You two are like a match made in high school. When she told me when you made Shrimpy mean more than one thing, I didn't realize how much of a try-hard idiot you are."

Troy finally stops walking. His face drops. "Spinelli," he sighs. "I admire how vocal you are. I love it. But." He shakes his head. "You can't make fun of people's interests like that. You can never know the significance of something, or how much of what someone's interests means to them."

Like how you destroyed wrestling for me? You idiot. I don't say anything. There's no need to vent and argue when his predictions were spot on.

Troy carries on walking again in a brisk pace as I walk beside him. "And for the rec. Yeah. Maddie's a nice girl. I'd show her a good time and give her a reason for her parents to hate me. But I'm not her type."

I try to hide my smile. "I'm sorry to hear that," I reply.

She must see through his crap too. I'm not the only one.

Troy looks back over at me. "She plays for the other team."

"Other than Thad high? What? That doesn't make sense, Troy?"

"She's gay, Spinelli. She didn't tell you?"

"You're messed up," I go, stomping harder in my boots to catch up to him. "You can't be labeling Maddie, calling her, _that._ Just cause she doesn't fancy you back—"

"Spinelli," goes Troy, as he interrupts me. His face straightens up as he puts his hand on my arm. I push his hand off me. He's not affected with his eyes still on me. "Look at me. I'm _not_ joking. She came out the other day to all the cheerleaders. She's a lot more than meets the eye. She's the strongest girl I know. Besides _you_ of course."

I stay silent for a second. "Really?" I ask.

"Really."

Troy turns around and reaches a pathway that weaves towards a house.

"What happened to all girls being inferior?" I ask.

Troy shrugs, taking some keys out putting it into a door of some house. " _You_ should know. You've completely changed my idea on that."

I smile. Troy smiles back.

Troy enters a house. It should be his house. It looks respectable from the outside. More than my brother's shabby shack. What am I doing? I'm not gonna follow him inside am I? I walk inside anyway. Troy's already taken his shoes off. We're not alone. There's a nice smell of home cooking. Little saps starts running down the stairs into the living room. Three little boys with the same skin tone and dark hair as Troy. They don't notice me. Troy catches one of them and starts playfully spinning him around.

Hanging on the wall is a family picture. From the looks of it, its his Mom, Dad, Troy himself, three younger brothers and a sister.

Troy lets his brother go and strolls to the kitchen. The shape of the doors have nice Arabian curves to it.

His mom turns around at him. "You decide to come back, then?" she asks him, with her hand on her waist. "Lana's been calling you and calling you but you're out somewhere once again, not caring about your responsibilities. You have to be the second man of the house. You _know_ that. I shouldn't." She stops mid-sentence and turns her attention to me as I work further inside. Her face goes softer into a smile. "Whose this beautiful girl you've bought home?"

Troy looks over at me and then his mom again. "This is my friend, um—"

He's probably wondering whether to call me by my full name or not.

I walk forward and shake her hand. "Ashley Spinelli," I say.

His mom caresses my hand a bit and looks at Troy. "Ah, I've seen you've got my Thomas lost for words. That's a first. You must be a very special girl, Ashley."

Gees. I forgot his real name is Thomas. Everyone calls him Troy at school.

Troy kisses his mom on the cheek and takes his car parts to his dining room. There's a girl in here by herself. She's the same girl in the family photo. His sister. She has long dark hair like me with a Beanie McChimp hair pin. Troy puts down his car parts to the side.

"You're such a loner," Troy says to her, picking her up. "Lana, say hello to my friend, Spinelli."

She grins widely at me and waves. She mentions something. I can't really understand her. All the words she's forming is coming out all mismatched. Troy goes towards a broken wheelchair by the wall. I sit down on a dining chair next to Lana. She wobbles her head at me with her bright eyes.

"Rella!" she shouts at me.

"Rella?" I ask her back. "I'm sorry I don't understand." I look back at Troy.

"Hmm. I don't know either," Troy goes, abandoning the wheelchair.

He goes over to his sister and lifts her up again. They stare into each others eyes like they're doing a blinking contest. Like they're speaking telepathically.

"Cindy Rella. Code name and Bads Looney and Sperelli. Twos Twos," Lana says, all sporadically in a jumbled language.

Troy's been looking deep in her eyes, taking in everything she said. He puts her back down. "Rella has different meanings," says Troy, returning back to fixing the wheelchair with Joey's car parts. "It's short for Cinde _rella_ , right?" Troy asks his sister. She smiles and nods her head. "A nickname for a person, typically a girl, who does crazy things and feels no shame. She must be describing you then, Spinelli." His sister giggles and nods again. "Sorry. My sister's a little trouble maker. Here's the kicker. If two _rellas_ are together, there is bound to be twice the insanity, and scandalous acts will take place."

I wonder if Troy knows that _scandalous_ is an Ashley thing? It's not like the three Ashleys at school say that any more.

I get up and make Troy move over from what he's doing. He's fixing the wheelchair all wrong. He's making it harder for himself. His sister laughs in response when I take over what he's doing. I call him names of how stupid he is and his sister is loving it. The wheelchair gets fixed in no time. Troy picks up Lana and fits her on the wheelchair. With a flick of her wrist Lana moves freely with the new motor in the chair. She weaves out the room as his mom dodges Lana as she goes past.

His mom pokes her head around the room. "تروی. مواد غذایی. _(Troy. Groceries,)_ " his mom says.

Troy nods and goes back through the house. His sister waves to me before we go. We plop our shoes back on and leave to go outside.

"Your sister is killing me with that look," I say, staring back at the house.

"She's just showing off," Troy replies, as we walk again. "Besides, she sounds cute and all, but she _is_ smart. She doesn't get bummed down by her disability though, so she made me learn new words with her. Some of them have more than one meaning when she struggles to understand things."

We walk up to the grocery store but we walk straight passed the Quick-O mart. Where is he going? We head to a foreign looking Spicy Food shop. He gathers up some bits from the freezer section. I look intently at some of the snacks that are here. They are so different from the American snacks I'm used to. I take my wallet out and see I only have a few dollars. I can afford it, but it's no really worth it.

We head to the Townsedge mall. We drop by High-top Palace. It's lively in here. Nothing but floor to ceiling of one sided sneakers. I'm drawn to the vans. They're pretty expensive, but I have to have them.

"Troy?" I say, calling him over. "Ain't it weird how I won't spend for something basic like food which I need to live, and I blame it on being broke? But when it's expensive stuff I don't need I'm like, ' _hell to the yes_ , _I gotta have it_?'"

Troy looks at the vans and then at me. "Not really. It's sorta like how basic human needs gets neglected in society for stuff we don't need. Like a franchise chain'll get made from the ground up, before clean water will be supplied to poor people who need it."

I look at Troy.

"What?" goes Troy, looking bewildered at me. "Is there something on my face?"

"Why are you smart like that sometimes? And a complete asshat at other times?" I ask, interrogating him.

"We both go to one of the smartest schools in the state, don't we?" Troy goes, looking wierded out at me. "Hey. If you can skate with those boots on, _that's talent_. Those vans will just be frivolous. Besides. If we were on a date I'd buy 'em for you."

"You shouldn't buy a girls affection, Troy," I say, nudging my shoulder into him and making my way out of the store.

We return back to Troy's house.

Troy changes hands with his carrier bag. "All right Spinelli, you can wait outside. I'm coming back out in a sec," goes Troy, holding his keys to his front door.

"Yeah okay," I reply.

He looks back at me suspiciously as he goes inside. I should just leave. I can't believe I followed Troy and pretty much spent most of this Saturday with him. I still hate him. No I don't. I mean, he's okay. I guess. He's not a jerk all the time. How could he be? He wouldn't have any friends if he pulled his stupidness and arrogance all the time.

Troy steps back outside of his house. "You—you, you actually waited. You didn't flake on me," says Troy.

I fold my arms. "I thought about leaving, but I recon that would have be rude, so."

I lead Troy this time to Dead man's dirt pile then to the lake. The same lake the gang and I went to during the summer in fourth grade. It's quiet and peaceful with just us two here. We gather up some skinny rocks to throw.

Troy smiles at me and then at the lake. "You can't get enough of me, can you?" Troy boasts, barging his shoulder into mine before he then skips a rock across the lake.

"Dream on, pal-y," I reply, as I skip a rock myself.

This is us. Troy and I. Saying dumb stupid things to each other. No matter what I do, I can't find anything to wipe that stupid grin off his face. We just go back and forth with the insults to each other as the sun comes down.

* * *

"What's up, pookie?" asks Dad, taking a light beer from the kitchen and taking a seat on his throne of an armchair.

"I just, got a lot on my mind right now," I say.

"You know you can tell me anything," he replies.

"All right. My best friend's in juvie and he didn't even do anything. There's a lunatic out to get him, me, and all of my friends, if you count Mikey, Gretchen and Gus. It would be Vince too but he doesn't even hang out with us anymore. There's these groups in high school that are tearing my friends apart. Now I'm stuck wearing these boring school uniforms. School's starting to get unbearable, and Mom keeps saying I'm in a pre-tough girl phase but I'm not," I say, huffing, catching my breath.

"Hmmm, I don't know about all that. I need more time to swirl all of that around in my noggin'," Dad says, flicking to Reign of Pain. "Nothing a little wrestling can't temporarily fix, eh?"

"Troy was right," I say, rubbing my eyes. "Wrestling is fake."

Dad looks devastated at me like I've said I'm not his daughter anymore.

I keep going. "The whole match between Bare Knuckle Jones and Killer McGee is more fixed than the smile I fake for Aunt Florence. Look, first the referee is gonna get in an argument with Dominitro and get distracted. Then when he's turned around, Bare Knuckle Jones is gonna take his hammer and hit McGee. The referee will only _then_ notice when Bare Knuckle Jones has McGee down for the three count," I say, remembering Troy almost word for word. Everything plays out. The referee is about to slam down on the mat. "One. Two. Three."

"This is a repeat, you saw this in the morning I bet," says Dad.

"I did yeah, but—"

"You see," says Dad.

Wrestling is probably the only thing Dad and I can bond over. He's probably trying to keep up with the illusion that it _is_ real, so that we don't break apart from our tradition.

Mom looks over at us from the kitchen. "Ashley honey, did you just mention your little boyfriend Troy, just now?" Mom interrupts.

"Your what?" Dad blurts out, miraculously not spilling his beer.

"Mom!" I shout.

Mom walks closer to us, just in front of the TV. "You should have seen it Bob, they were so adorable together. I haven't seen him since you two had a little date after your first day of school."

"Ugh! Mom you're so, you're so—Ugh!" I shout, before I storm upstairs.

I slam my bedroom door shut. My mom is unbelievable. I can't believe her.

My room is now a detective's office slash crime scene. Picture and notes pinned on every inch of my four walls. All the stock photographs of the new teacher's faces. Their schedules. Their I.D and information with links joining the points and correlations I've found out. I put my hands out and lean against the wall trying to take everything in. There is a bigger plot behind all of this. I know it.

There's three knocks on my door. I don't answer. The knocking becomes more fierce. I open the door. It's Dad. I look him up and down. He must of been in a rush after speaking with Mom. He's still got his slippers on.

"Ashley," says Dad, with a stern tone. "I don't want you keeping secrets from me. If you _do_ have a boyfriend it would be nice if you filled me in first."

I smile, saying, " _that's_ rich."

" _Excuse me_ , young lady."

"I think _you're_ the one keeping secrets from _me_. When Joey said—"

Dad cuts me off. "Joey? You've been seeing him behind my back when I specifically told you not to?"

"Dad," I sigh, leaning my head on the side of my door. "I kinda don't even need Joey to tell me about all the weird and suspicious stuff you've been doing. I typed the pass-code for the house alarm wrong once, and red lasers popped around everywhere. When you take your letters to your little office room with you, I hear this weird women's voice before puffs of smoke start to flow from under the door. I'm sure a compartment in the kitchen revealed some weapons once." I look over at Dad's guilty expression. "If I'm wrong at any point stop me."

"You do have a tendency of making stuff up and having a vivid imagination," Dad says, with an unconvincing smile.

"How can I open up to you when you're not being honest with me?" I ask.

Dad's lost for words. A phone ringing starts to go off. It's coming from all the way down from his slipper. There's a little antenna to pull out on the corner of it. Another weird gadget he has.

"Dad. Your shoes ringing," I say, closing my door in his face.

* * *

 **There's something big that's being conspired against the school.** I can feel it. I don't need to rest either. How else can, everything being turned upside down, be explained? TJ was framed at 9:11 am. The same number to call the police. The same people that took Teej away from us. Now there are Twenty new teachers. 9 plus 11 is 20. Nine female teachers and eleven male ones. Everything happened for a reason.

I take my feet off the chair in front and I stop biting my nails. I'm practically the only one in the audience of the auditorium watching Mikey's drama class. I reach down the bottom of the large room to reach the stage. This class is performing a play. There's yet another new teacher directing them. There's nothing for me to worry about though, the teacher's a woman.

I pull myself up on to the stage. Mikey looks up from the sheets of stapled together paper he's holding.

"Spinelli, I can see through the windows of your soul that somethings troubling you," says Mikey, putting down his lines.

Gretchen, whose also in this drama class, steps closer to me. "What are you doing here?" she asks, looking concerned too. "Haven't you got a class right now?"

"Probably," I reply, with a shrug. "I can't focus. I can't sleep either, no matter how boring class can be."

Gretchen comes even closer and examines my face with her hands. "Spinelli. _Your eyes._ _You're twitching_. I miss TJ too, but you can't beat yourself up like this. I know it hurts you in the worst way, but you can't keep missing classes and ditching your homework like this."

"If I wanted your opinion I'd ask for it," I reply, stepping away from Gretchen holding my face. "For instance. Does that teacher look _odd_ to you?"

Gretchen looks away from me, unsure whether to look at me, back down at her script or the teacher I'm staring at. This new teacher they have for drama is different. The one teacher I've got the least information on. It's a woman, at least, I think she is. She's wearing a dress, lady's shoes and has curly hair. But. There's something off about her. _No friggin' way!_ The teacher's a dude. The strong sculptured face. The obvious wig. James Stone. He didn't did he? He didn't sink _this_ low.

"You know who that is, don't you?" I shout, pointingthe teacher out to Mikey and Gretchen.

"Erm," Mikey goes. "Miss Enemelia."

"Ah-ha!" I shout, pointing at the teacher. "Mr Foley sounds like foe! Miss Enemelia sounds like enemy! You couldn't help it! You have to have your disguises sound like clues! Criminal logic 101! You just couldn't help yourself!"

It's James Stone.

"Me?" James Stone asks, pointing at himself confused. He looks down at his script and flicks through it. "I don't know what you're talking about. Were you late for class? Because, this is the first time I'm seeing you, dear." He puts his hand out for me to shake it. "I didn't get to introduce myself. I'm Miss Enemelia."

I slap his hand away. I walk up to the other side of the stage. I can't believe he thinks he can get away with this. I'll show him.

I run full pelt at him. It feels like everything is in slow motion.

Mikey holds his hand out. "Spinelli no!"

I charge towards James Stone with a shoulder block take down in his torso. He moves off in the air. We slam on the ground together. I hold him down. The rest of the class look and stare helplessly.

Gretchen steps in. "That's not him, Spinelli!"

I rip his stupid wig off and hold it above my head looking back at Gretchen. "What? But the teacher's a guy!" I argue.

"We know," says someone else in the class.

Huh? I look back down at the teacher. He's squirming away from me. That's not James Stone. I mean, it _is a man_ but not the man the gang and I are looking for. Thaddeus recruited a male teacher that wants to dress like a woman. Who knew?

* * *

Matthew scratches his head. He begins to say something but he stops and re-positions himself on his seat.

He rubs his eyes underneath his black shades. "You tackled a transvestite drama teacher to the floor," Matthew says, recalling what I did a mere ten minutes ago. "When you should have been doing science." He shakes his head at me and smiles. "If your friend, that uh, Gretchen Grundler didn't step in to explain, quite eloquently the mistake you made, you could have been in a heap of mess."

"I thought he—" I start.

"I think _she_ is more politically correct," adds Matthew.

"It's not my problem he decided to dress up like a girl. I didn't even mean it."

Matthew looks at his piece of paper with the incident jotted down. "Okay. So, you're saying you _didn't_ mean to spear Miss Enemelia in front of an entire class, across a stage, on her first lesson, on her first day as a new woman. You're lucky you're not being committed for a hate crime." He pauses checking on his Sirenbucks polystyrene coffee cup. "So, I'm not gonna tell Third about this. He's not too friendly these days, if you know what I mean. With you and your antics, I think you _definately_ know what I mean."

It makes sense now. I couldn't find sufficient information on Miss Enemelia because not only is he working as a teacher for the first time but he changed his identity into a woman.

"Did Gretchen tell you about James Stone?" I ask him.

If Matthew is James Stone, then this will surely take him off guard.

"Oh yes, it's all here," says Matthew, waving his tiny notes on paper. He pulls at his hair but it's not budging. His hair looks real. "See. No wig. If you wanna catch this guy, all power to you. But you can't be assaulting teachers. I don't even think I should be explaining that."

I hold my head in pain. "I think I need help," I confess.

"That's what I'm here for, but, you should go and ask that, um," starts Matthew, tapping on his desk as he tries to jog back his memory. "Ask that specky something-something. Weird kid. Rules with an iron fist. He has that tacky hall monitor sash. You know, he likes to be referred to his surname like you do."

"Menlo?" I ask.

"Yes. That's the one. I've talked to him for you. He's an odd child, but, the boy's a drug lord savant."

What does that mean? Matthew leads me out of the counseling corner in room 404 anyway. I head down the hallway. Menlo is there as he scrummages inside of his locker. I turn back around. Oh wait. I don't think I'll need a hall pass if I was excused by Matthew. I don't know. I let my feet think for me as I edge closer and closer to Menlo until his locker's door is in my face.

Menlo slams his locker shut. "Oh, Spinelli. Hello," he greets.

"Yeah," I mumble.

"Matthew Hewitt told me about your situation," says Menlo, leaning on the locker door. "Don't worry. Your heart was in the right place."

I shrug like so-what. Menlo opens his locker once again. His locker is really organized, with his homework neatly planned out and his WILMCO Look-a-head calendar folder. My eyes are glued on all his little bottles with white lids, settled on his shelf. Loads of them. All in bright different colors.

"Take a pick," says Menlo.

I pick one out and look at the prescription. "Meth-ilip. Meth-in-pheni—"

"Methylphenidate Hydrochloride," Menlo corrects. "Ritalin."

"You take these?" I ask, looking at the information on the back of it.

"Certainly," says Menlo. "It's assisted me to become more focused, aware, and the mere continued schedule of having two a day keeps me organized. One in the morning and one in the afternoon has kept me in line and in check." He takes out a folder and clicks a pen. He hands me a permission slip. "I'm gonna need to see that your parents sign this document in order for you to use them."

"Thanks Menlo," I say, returning the pills back.

Menlo pushes the pill tube straight back to me. "Mr Hewitt gave me consent earlier, so you can keep those. But give me your parents signature asap if you want a refill."

* * *

 **All the butterflies in my stomach flutter and cause a riot in my stomach.** Mr Dude is beautiful. I get it, I mean, I completely get it now. My best friend TJ being sent to juvie. The secrets my father is keeping from me. The creepy stalker James Stone that's out to get me. But none of that matters. All that matters is my tutor Mr Dudikoff is so dreamy. This is my escape. Staring at him is freedom.

"You okay, Spinelli?" Mr Dude asks, his eyes now off of his comic, his hand hovering over his cup of coffee.

"Uh-huh," I sigh back.

Mr Dude smiles at me and I could melt into my seat. I don't even care about being a tough ruff rouser anymore, at least when he is around. He goes back to turning the next page of his Fearless Mortuary Kid Mysteries comic book. Being him, it's probably his copy and not just one he confiscated. Vince used to read those, maybe they're Vince's? Forget Vince. Where was he when TJ needed his support?

I wonder if Mr Dude uses conditioner to make his hair perfect like that.

Balls of paper are bouncing off the back of my head. I can feel the crumbled pieces of snow collecting on my hat and in my hair. I can imagine Sir and I ice skating and holding hands. Spinning around in a winter wonderland.

Troy throws a paper airplane that hits me straight on my forehead. I can imagine flying away and taking an exotic trip with Mr Dude. A place so romantic. A Mediterranean setting where it's just us. No high school. No problems. Just Dude.

I snap out of whatever trance I'm on. I finally look away from Mr Dude. He's looking freaked out at me. Everyone in the classroom is.

Ashley A bends her head across at me. "Aw, Spinelli. Do you wanna do kissy face with Mr Dude?" she asks in a mocking voice.

Everyone laughs at me.

I can't say anything back because, yeah, I do.

* * *

 **Election day.** I got rid of all the Ridalin. I'm not like Menlo. That stuff ain't for me. I make sure there's no one looking. I reveal the hamster I bought. I have a better look at him. His cute little nose. His cute little paws. His black beady eyes. I stroke his little head as he starts to snuggle and fall asleep in my hands. **  
**

A slam hits my locker with a bang.

"Spinelli!" Maddie greets, with a big grin. Speedy junior wakes up in my palms and I squabble to keep him from falling on the ground. She looks at me. She looks at the hamster. She looks at me again. She keeps doing this in intervals, then bursts out in laughter. "You're smuggling hamsters into school now?"

"He's not just a hamster," I argue, placing him in a wheel inside my locker. "He's Speedy junior."

"Oh, I see," says Maddie, leaning against a locker. "This is because of the other day, isn't it? Those pills made you loopy and open up some feelings you had." Maddie gasps covering her mouth and jumps up in delight. "You're love struck with Mr Dude like everyone else, aren't you?"

"No."

"And you wanna swap your feelings for something else."

Oh, that's nice. That's really great snoop work she came up with. I should come back telling her how scared she's making everyone around her. Her mood changes more than the weather or something. Nah. Maddie really does have some anger issues. It doesn't seem fair. She's been waiting for a comeback from me with her mouth all blown up holding in air.

I sigh. "I _hate_ you," I say really slowly.

"Aw, Spinelli," teases Maddie, blowing out air from her cheeks. "The feeling is _so_ not mutual."

She puts her arms around me in a hug until both our fronts are touching. She's hugging me pretty tight. She lets go and looks straight into my eyes while she's smirking wide. I wonder if Troy was telling the truth about Maddie. Could she really like girls? And if so, why hasn't she told me yet?

"Spinelli?" asks Maddie. "You're spacing out on me. Was it something I said? My hug technique not to your liking?"

"Look," I say, placing my usual belongings in my locker. "We should go ahead and vote for class president."

We leave together to the school gym. Lots of people are already here. I move inside one of the temporary stalls to cast my vote. I take out a slip and I make a cross for CJ Rottweiler. Not much to think about. Pretty much an easy option.

I'm feel more focused. I know what I have to do. I'm on to something massive here. I ask Gretchen, Molly and Mikey to follow me as I leave class to stake out the suspicious teachers. They all say no. I take Ashley T away from the other cheerleaders and ask her to bunk the first lessons with me as well. She gives me the same answer.

Gretchen comes back over to me. "Remember what we've got planned for Maddie," she goes, reminding me.

"Yeah sure," I reply. I tap Ashley T on the arm. "Me and Ashley T have it covered."

"What is your plan exactly?" Gretchen asks. "Not for Maddie, but your idea that I'm excluding myself from."

"Well," I say. "I'm gonna stake out the suspicious teachers using the off times on their schedules."

"That plan doesn't sound so resolute."

"I've read every Barnaby boy mystery. I think I know what I'm doing."

I walk around the gym and look to see who could possibly help me. The jocks are there. I could ask Troy but I know we'll bicker too much.

I turn to Vince at the side of the gym. "Vince, you wouldn't leave school for the first couple of lessons with me would ya?"

Vince looks at me astonished. "Maybe. I mean, is it the same kind of emergency Gretchen had last week?"

"No," I reply, shaking my head. "That was a girl thing. Now it's a gang thing." Vince looks at me confused. "Look, you know what, don't worry your pretty little head about it, okay? You wouldn't ditch school anyway."

"Sorry Spin," Vince says. I walk away and Vince touches my arm. "Hey, thanks for not being so mad at me still. For not being there, you know, for you guys."

"I hear you," I say back at him.

I walk back to the entrance of the gym.

Maddie makes a funny face at me until she notices I'm not smiling. "What's up?"

"None of the gang wanna help track down any suspicious teachers with me," I reply.

"What? Am I like invisible?" asks Maddie, pointing at herself. "I'll come."

I keep Maddie by my side as I go back to my locker to suit up. I take my skateboard out. I put orange ski cap on. I wedge my phone in place inside of my cap.

* * *

The stake out is not going so well. All these teachers are doing, is boring teachers stuff. Drinking coffee, marking papers and setting up new homework slave work for us to do. I haven't found out a single thing. Maddie and I try to stay incognito whilst everyone else is at class. We time it perfectly to avoid crossing up with teachers who will send us back to class.

Maddie and I go outside and set up camp behind some cover in the parking lot. It's only Matthew Hewitt coming out to his car. Maddie nudges me and points to him.

I shake my head at her. "Matthew ain't James Stone," I say.

"Why not?" asks Maddie.

"He has hair. Lots of it. James Stone was bald. Remember Mr Foley had a hair piece."

"So?" says Maddie, screwing her eyes up. "Haven't you heard of a hair transplant? If he's the same build and height as James What's-his-face, why couldn't it be him? And he wears those black sunglasses all time. Maybe he's hiding something."

She's kinda got a point. Matthew's starting his car's engine. I tell Maddie to stay hidden. I take my skateboard out and crouch at the back of Matthew's beaten up hoopty of a car. I hold on to his car's bumper as I skitch a ride. I adjust myself so he can't see me in his blind spots. I wobble a little bit as I keep balance. I'm on the road tailgating this guy.

The car is really gaining speed as I hold on. He heads to town and he's stopping outside the County Board Of Education _'in discipline we trust'_. That's interesting. His car is slowing down. I stay hidden at the back of his car. Matthew's getting out. He's walking towards the steps of the court building.

I take my phone out and call Maddie. "Hey Maddie. Okay, he's stopped outside the court Teej went to."

"Really?" replies Maddie, from the other side. "Send me a picture."

I do just that.

"There's more," I say to Maddie. "Tad White, the new superintendent, is coming out. He's handing something over to Matthew. It looks like a briefcase."

I hang up Maddie again and take more pictures from my iCell of Tad White and Matthew Hewitt's exchange.

I roll away from the car on my skateboard to a different hiding spot. Matthew puts the briefcase in the boot of his car and drives off again.

I head back to school. The road that cuts in front of school is busy but I don't care. I flip my board up. I walk straight across the road without looking either way. Cars slam their breaks to the left and right of me.

I take my phone out still walking. "Mad! I've got some dirt and it's _juice!_ "

Maddie looks astonished at me holding her phone to her ear. "Spinelli, are you—?" She puts her phone down. "Are you crazy? You just jay walked straight across a busy road."

"I'm a jay walking punk anarchist. I know. Captain Brad from the Safety Rangers called me that once."

We walk up to Matthew's car. It's parked with the other cars in the teacher's part of the lot. I lift up a random rod I spot on the ground.

"Maddie," I say, turning to her. "Please don't think of me any differently for what I'm about to do."

Maddie stares at me perplexed but then realizes my intentions.

I break into Matthew Hewitt's car from the side door. I unset the alarm once I'm inside. Funny. The way the boot opens its almost exactly the same as Joey's car. We get to the back of the car. Opening up the boot, there's the briefcase. I take a hair pin out from my hair and twist around the padlock. It clicks. It's open.

I take a second to look back at Maddie. We countdown from three and fling it open. _Holy hell!_ Money. Nothing but green. The whole briefcase is full of it. They are all in hundred dollars bills too.

I'm shocked. "A hundred smackers, American!" I shout, holding up a note.

"There must be like, a million dollars in here," Maddie says, trailing her finger along the money.

I grab a heap of the money in my hand. My life is set now. I don't need to graduate. There's enough guap here to make bad decisions and enough left over to pay for the therapy bill afterwards. I could help Joey's business. Move out of my parent's house. Start again. Change my name and turn into a body builder named Moe. I could pay off the juvie TJ's in to get him out.

"Spinelli?" Maddie asks, shaking me back to reality.

"Huh?" I go.

I stack the dollars back. I take out my cell and snap clear and concise pictures of all the money and the car's license plate.

Maddie shakes her head. "We have to tell the police. _This isn't normal,_ " says Maddie.

"And run crying to the same people that framed our friend. Fat chance. The younger me would have just taken the money and run. Exchange all the notes for IOU's," I say, closing the briefcase, re-locking it and shutting the boot. "We're not telling the police. _We know_. That's all that matters."

We head back to the front of high school. It's Menlo standing there waiting for us. Menlo is so annoying. Menlo is like that feeling of a pre-zit you get on your face just under your skin. You know it's there but you still can't prevent it from popping out.

"Hi ladies," Menlo says smirking, holding slips in his hand. "I have level 3 detention slips with your name on it."

"Maddie," I say, facing Menlo. "Go to town."

Maddie cracks her knuckles and makes Menlo back off as we enter inside school.

"Not so fast," pants Menlo, walking back away from us. "You wouldn't want to get an early dismissal. I have that power now."

"You're bluffing," I say.

"No," says Maddie, stopping herself from strangling him. "He's right. Remember in that first assembly of the new year? Principle Third said."

"But," I say, looking around. "You can't give us detention. I mean, yeah, we messed up. But we're on a verge of something. But even then, we can not stay after school today. Especially today."

"Hmm?" Maddie goes. "What makes today so special?"

I can't tell her. Not now anyway.

Mr Dude reveals himself from the tutor room. "Hey! What's going on?" Mr Dudikoff asks, approaching us.

Menlo flashes his detention slips. "Maddie and Spinelli were violating the school order by ditching class and jay walking during study hours."

I look down at the ground. "We're really sorry, sir," I apologize.

Some students are coming out from study hall. The usual girls that lust over Mr Dude and more are here.

"Is that it?" Mr Dude asks. "You two knew what you were doing." Mr Dude pauses and his expression changes. "These two girls were helping me and I'm glad you found the time to escort them. They've come back after they did an errand for me, ain't that right girls?"

Maddie and I nod in agreement. Wow. Mr Dude's bailing us out.

"You can't do this," argues Menlo. "I have jurisdiction over them."

"But not over me," says Mr Dude, looking down on Menlo. "And I would appreciate it if you will not abuse any tiny bit of power you may or may not have been given from the principle. Have I made myself clear?"

"But sir?" goes Menlo.

Mr Dude gives him a serious look and takes the detention slips, ripping them into pieces. Menlo gulps deeply and walks back through the hallway.

Mr Dude nods at us and goes back to his class.

I smile back at him.

Maybe I wasn't so crazy to fall in love with him after all.

**[PLAY SONG"M.I.A-Bad girls" AT THIS POINT]**


	10. Bitchification

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 9

Maddie POV

* * *

 **" _You like him,_ "** I tease.

" _I do not,_ " replies Spinelli, trying not to smile back or even look at me.

"You'll have to wait in line, though," I say. "The word's out that some girls are deliberately getting detention just so that they can see more of him and make googly eyes."

All the other kids are late to the party. Me, Spinelli, and a few other gooses watch Mr Dude as he walks off, having handled the Menlo situation quite, _knight in shining armour-ly_. Getting out his way, leaving his boring ritual of grading papers, to help us poor jaywalking damsels in distress. I might as well tease Spinelli about crushing on Mr Dude, instead of asking her how she really feels about TJ. Last thing I wanna do is stir up some closed in feelings she may or may not have, well, for now anyway. I respect it. Maybe I see something, or nothing's there at all.

Girls gotta have a tough exterior for a reason.

Mr Dude walks up till he reaches outside his classroom door. He leans on it facing ahead of us as he's pestered by the love fueled girls who probably have their own fan club dedicated to him by now.

Spinelli shakes her phone. "I think I'm gonna go to the darkroom and process these," Spinelli says, spinning on her heel, going down the hall.

She stops and hangs her head. She walk back towards me, now going the right way. She shies away when Mr Dude notices her.

Troy emerges as he watches Spinelli as she disappears. He's wearing his varsity jacket over his uniform. He walks passed Mr Dude and takes strides along the lockers.

I call him over. "You catch what Mr Dude just did?" I ask him. Troy scowls slightly looking uninterested. "Well, you missed him help us two out anyway. Seems like Spinelli's trying real hard not to make it seem like she's not crushing on him."

"She ain't the only one," Troy says, as he looks back at Mr Dude like he's checking him out.

"Stop it!" I gasp, as I chuckle a little bit. "I've been meaning to ask you to get the jocks together to incorporate in our cheer routine when we, um." I stop. Troy's still looking at Mr Dude and his eyes are still glued on his butt. "Troy, I get it. The joke's kinda dead now."

"What joke?" asks Troy, slowly turning back to me.

"I don't know. Pretending to be gay."

"I'm not pretending."

"You've turned gay? Is that what you're telling me?"

"No. I'm into girls. Anyone really," he says, as he ponders, tilting his eyes up and poking his bottom lip out.

" _Oh, 'kay_. So, have you ever thought about—?"

"Bonking him?" suggests Troy, with wide eyes. "Deffo."

I slowly take a step back. "Troy, you're not being funny anymore."

"Wait," Troy says, putting his hand up. "Doesn't everyone find anything and anyone boneable to some degree? No matter what that person looks like? Girls to boys to geeks to freaks? Aliens to sapiens?"

I shake my head. "I think you're a pansexual, Troy."

"Labels are for clothes," he huffs, tugging where his jacket's lapels would be. "So, you're telling me I'm pans, you're les and the rest of the group can only get giggidy feels for their gender opposites?"

"That's how it works," I reply.

"Straight people are weird."

"Yeah, weird," I agree, as we walk up the hallway together. "I have to tell Spinelli I'm gay before it gets _weird_ between _us_."

Troy shifts his eyes and looks away. "I kind of already told her."

"What?" I shout, as people continue to walk around us both.

"Sorry!" wails Troy, as he flinches up, backing away from me with his hands guarding his face. I just stare at him until he begins to loosen up again. "Aren't you gonna release the kraken and whale on me? Call me something? Do anything?"

"No," I say. "It's not like it isn't true."

"It was a secret I guess, but I thought—"

"Huh? I told you because I just realized what I am. You don't always have to insinuate _what_ and _what isn't_ off limits to people," I explain. "So, how did she take it?"

"Surprised, but she's cool with it," says Troy, as we continue to walk together. "I think."

* * *

My cheer leading crew are outside on the grass in front of the bleachers. They're all huddled together and all of them seem hyped up talking about something or someone. Whatever it is, it seems to be some hella hot news. I go up to them. They pause whatever they're saying. Some of them poke the ones who haven't noticed me turn up yet as they hold back the chat they were having.

"Don't stop talking because of me," I say, strutting my fists on my waist.

Ashley B looks almost spooked. "We wouldn't dream of it, right Ashley A?" Ashley B says in a shrill.

"Nu-uh," goes Ashley A, pausing from sipping down her Sirenbucks coffee venti.

"Girls," says Robyn, looking around at everyone. She turns to me. "You're like the best leader we've ever had, but we can't tell you everything we dish about. Sometimes we just want our chats under wraps."

"Gossiping should be public domain, that's what makes it fun," I argue.

Ashley T comes forward too. "Not all the time," she says.

"Ah!" I breath out. "So, it's only okay to spread rumors about people, but only when its _not_ about you. I didn't know I was leading a bunch of hypocrites. You could tell everyone about my freaky fourth toe. I wouldn't mind."

Leslie looks on at me. "We're not as fearless as you," she says.

"Hmm," I hum out load. I sigh out as dramatically as possible. "I guess I'll be all by myself with no one to talk to about Vince, Troy and Mikey." I've hooked some of the cheer leaders with my bait already. I slowly walk away. "How one's coming to terms with having two dads, another sneaked into an NC-17 film and just recently one of them came out to me that they're almost certainly a pansexual. But I guess you lot don't care."

Ashley A opens her mouth wide and pushes her venti back at Ashley B. "Wait! Forget them, you can talk to me!"

"And me!" says Ashley B.

Got em'. One after the other, my girls peck at me and push each other over for me to dish more dirt. I knew they couldn't stay mad at _moi_ for long. The cute sultress with the loose lips.

* * *

It's my last lesson for today as I go on the first floor. I waltz inside of R.E. class. Jimmy's already there sitting at our desk. I _heart_ the United Nerds. How they try to solve peoples problems and the way they all shamelessly represent their country each and every day.

"Maddie," says Jimmy, getting up pulling the seat out for me. "Being in your presence again is grace of a thousand doves."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, Jimmy," I reply, holding my chair. To the side people are giggling at Jimmy's overload of etiquette. I stare them down until they look away. Jimmy _does_ look a bit starry eyed. "Could you not do that every lesson. You're handsome too, for sure," I say, giving him a thumbs up. I take a seat and he sits down too. "But it makes me seem like I'm superficial. People might think I'm asking you to big me up all the time."

I really really _really_ don't wanna be leading him on or anything.

"Do preconceptions weigh heavier than an elephant when a mere feather takes the fall all the same?" he asks.

"I dunno. Does it?"

"Someone's opinion of you should not matter when we following the same path. I think you're awesome Maddie, that's all I mean by that."

"Aw, really?" I go. I shake my head and pat him on the cheek. "You're sweet."

Mr Seshadri turns up and waits no time to get the lesson underway. The topic turns from the differences between religious beliefs with the significance of living to what happens in the after life. He's moved to Hiduism. He's drawn a diagram on the board of the different things humans can be reincarnated into from a small bug to another human.

"As you could of guessed, I'm Hindu, and I very much believe that I will experience many lives by being constantly created and recreated again. This is called Saṃsāra. While on earth, the actions affect our current and future lives," explains Mr Seshadri. "I'm sure you lot have heard of this term before, _'what goes around comes around?'_ "

Someone sticks their hand up and Mr Seshadri points to them. "Karma?" that person asks.

Mr Seshadri approves the answer. "In Hiduism, a person has to live over and over and go through different experiences until he or she attains perfection and becomes one with the divine."

Jimmy puts his hand up. "I'm Buddhist, so would that apply to me?"

Mr Seshadri nods.

I lift my hand up too. I wanna bit of the action. "Sir, I kinda don't believe in anything. Do I get a shot?"

"Traditionally this only applies to Buddhists and Hindus, but people have said to have been reincarnated without first believing in either faith. It's all debatable."

"Is this turning into another person thing really possible, though?" I ask.

"Well," starts Mr Seshadri. "There has been cases of children claiming they've lived extraordinary passed lives to sibling reincarnations."

"Sibling reincarnation?" I ask.

"Yes. It's when one sibling dies and as they pass away, their spirit, mannerisms and even their entire soul moves to their brother or sister when he or she is born. So you'll live on and not really die. A divine intervention."

Class is over.

I stroll down the hall and lean back on a locker. I whip out my phone from my knee high socks. I take my pick of the games I've downloaded. Samurai run, Zombie zen garden, and Robot storm. The free trial runs out and so does my patience. I'm next to the locker with it's door dented in. The same locker I went aggro on. I need people to stop making me burn up like that.

My name's called. I put my phone down. It's Ashley T and Spinelli.

Ashley T, Spinelli and I leave together outside. Dunno why Spinelli has up and left her friends for me and Ashley T though.

"Erm, Mad?" goes Spinelli to me. "Can we go to your house to hang out?"

"Huh, why? My crib is literally a crib, my mom's expecting, so everything's pretty much baby-sized," I reply. "How about Ashley T's house. She lives in a big mansion. Way more fun."

"Bugs," shrieks Ashley T, turning around at Spinelli then back at me again. "My house is like, completely infected with like, um, er—"

"Killer cockroaches," adds Spinelli. "That eat your face off—so, lets go to yours. We've never been."

Spinelli is such a bad liar. I can't believe I thought she really meant it when she said Dog's Pajamas where at the school that one time.

"The mall?" I suggest, changing my direction.

Spinelli stops. "I _really_ think we should go to your house."

I stare both of them down. They both force a fake smile at me. I shrug off their weirdness and just walk home.

We're at my house.

Heading inside, the living room is shut closed. Spinelli and Ashley T move hesitantly around it. We make our way to the garden where my mom has her outside studio. We walk inside. The quiet mood-setting music is playing. The mirrors reflect off her student's faces as they notice us three come in. There are about ten adults doing yoga stretches and following Mom's instructions. She's doing handstand yoga positions. Her pregnant belly bump in a standstill.

"And relax," says Mom. She open's her eyes and she sees it's me. "And keep that pose."

I walk over to Mom in front of the class. She's still upside down on her head and so are the others. "It's cool if us three crash here tonight, right?" I ask her.

"I need you to record my commercial," Mom says. "The lighting was a bit off on the last one."

"Mom," I moan. "There's a whole world outside of infomercials. It's called the internet. I'll set up all the social media links you need. No probs. I just wanna know if it's cool if Ashley and Spinelli can just stay here, and we could totally just have a little girl time and just—"

" _Maddie,_ " pierces Mom in a whisper, readjusting herself in front of me. "We talked about this, you have to be more aware of supporting a tranquil environment, what would your baby sister say?"

"Nothing. She hasn't developed a mouth yet, or a brain or arms or anything. All we're gonna do is do a little—"

"Stop," Mom says, halting me with her hand. "Breath in."

She indicates for me to inhale a big whiff of air.

I breath in with her.

"And out," Mom finishes.

I breath out again.

"Thank you girls for bringing her here, remember we are doing this _for_ you, okay?" Mom says to Ashley T, Spinelli and then to me. She looks over at her class. They're all red headed having been upside down for so long. "Everyone back to sitting position!"

I look back at Ashley T and Spinelli. They both have guilty looks on their faces. I walk passed them two. Some of Mom's students collapse on the floor. I stomp outside to the garden. They're both saying it wasn't their idea or something like that.

I open the living room door. It's crowded. Everyone from school is here. Well, not everyone, but everyone that's close to me. Gretchen, Mikey, Molly, Vince, Troy and all the other cheerleaders.

"What the hell is this?" I ask.

"It's an intervention," says Gretchen standing up. "I bought my mom, she's a psychiatrist, she can help you."

"I don't need help," I say.

Ashley chimes in saying, "Like, come on Maddie, you're a danger to humanity." .

"I'm nice sometimes," I argue, fighting my corner. I roll to Gretchen. "Gretchen, remember the time I was courteous to that tech kid when she struggled to speak English?"

"Actually Maddie," sighs Gretchen. "Kumiko speaks English. She speaks English really well. She pretended not to in order to indirectly insult you."

"What did she say?" I ask.

"A lot," says Gretchen, refraining to go on. "To summarize it. She called you a bitch."

Ashley A raises her eyebrows. "Told you," says Ashley A.

"Shut up, Ashley," Spinelli says. "And when I mean shut up I don't mean _oh_ _shut up, no way, I can't believe it_."

"You wanna mock us, but then you sound too much like we do."

Ashley B agrees. "It's not our fault Maddie's wacked out, ain't that right Vince?"

Vince looks surprised with wide eyes.

Spinelli grunts. "There you go again, stringing Vince along, he doesn't even like you," says Spinelli.

The room fills up with arguing. This all started with people's impressions of me. So what? I get angry from stuff, doesn't everyone? At least I don't bottle it up until I become one of those teens who ends up seriously harming other people, or even themselves. I can't get a word in, I can't hear myself think.

"All right, stop!" I shout out, everyone seems to remember why they're here now. "I know I've been a bit bitchy and unpredictable sometimes. I have a small tolerance for stupid people. That's why I have mood swings."

Nobody says anything. I leave the room with Spinelli and Gretchen, as Ashley T stays.

"Babydoll!" yells Dustin at me.

Dustin bull dozes himself into the scene. He's still wearing his red X high school varsity jacket. He hugs me and all I feel is hard chest. I tense up and wait till he lets go.

"Don't call me that!" I reply.

Troy comes out from the room. "Hey what's going—?"

"Yas!" Dustin shouts at Troy.

"Um. Yeah!" Troy replies, as Dustin forces him to high five.

Spinelli turns at me. "Who's this?"

Mom comes back inside. Dustin and my mom meet eyes.

Vince comes over to Troy's, Spinelli's and my side. "Mad, you never told us you had a older brother?" says Vince.

Mom and Dustin start making sucky face in front of all of us. It's disgusting. I've seen exploitation films before, but this is a new type of horror. Everyone slowly looks back at me, with a combined look like _W.T.F_?

Mom breaks up their kissing. "Stop Dustin. Sorry everyone, this is my fiancé, Dustin." She looks back at Dustin. "Dustin, this is Maddie's friends."

"All right?" he goes back at us. "I apologize for being late to your little exorcism y'all having for my daughter to be."

I clench my fists. I ask Troy if he has his football with him. He nods, goes back to the living room and brings it to me. I feel it around in my hand. I treat Dustin like a dog by shoving the football close to his face. I fall back to the front door and open it.

"Look boy! Fetch!" I say, throwing the football out the front door. I walk back leaving the front door wide open. "Go and mess up someone else's family!"

I storm upstairs.

"Maddie!" shouts Mom.

"Damn!" I hear Vince say from downstairs.

"But. My football," I hear Troy say.

I go to my room. I'm hearing two people coming upstairs behind me. I don't bother look back to see who it is.

"What the frig'?"

My room's gone. It's all baby stuff. An hourglass, a teddy bear, a pink rabbit, a baby bottle. Where's my bed gone? Everything's been moved out. I back out of the room almost walking straight into Spinelli and Gretchen. I bolt into the spare room. All my stuff is in cardboard boxes. The room's paint has been half done. There's a large drainage pipe sticking out the wall. A mattress left there. The rooms in a small triangle shape. I've been moved out of my own bedroom. The unfairness is friggin' unprecedented.

Spinelli comes into the small guest room I'm in. "I'm sorry you have to live with Dustin," says Spinelli.

"Don't worry about it," I reply, going through my boxes and laying it down on my mattress. "It's not like he's really my stepdad. The baby isn't even his either. My mom strives for perfection, so she holds deposits of men that meet her standards in the fridge."

"Ah! That's ghastly!" Gretchen shrieks, leaving back out through the room and downstairs.

It must be here. Spinelli comes to my side. Its like I'm going through everything. My pom poms. My megaphone. Spare converses. Makeup.

There it is. I found it. I take my portrait photo of my dad and I, as I go back down stairs.

Gretchen's talking to Dustin. "Do you work at X high school?"

"I'm a recent alumni," replies Dustin. "I keep the fraternities in check. You know, the important stuff."

"You remember him Mom?" I ask her, showing her my picture, making her move away from Dustin. "What do you think Dad would feel with your boy toy you—you—you."

I hold my head. Everyone's splitting into twins. My head is buzzing.

"Maddie is it?" asks Gretchen's mom. "If we go now to my office, I can squeeze you in for a session free of charge. How does that sound?"

"Extremely boring," I reply, gripping my picture tight.

Gretchen's mom smiles back.

I look back at everyone and head for the door placing the picture of my Dad on the coffee stand by the door.

I make my way with Gretchen and her mom to their place. Probably every shelf in this house has books on them. I enter a door separated from the other parts of the house. There's a certificate on the wall with 'Dr Grundler Ph. D. in clinical psychology with a concentration in Neuropsychology.' Gretchen's mom, I mean, Dr. Grundler takes a seat behind a desk. I take a seat on the long leather coach.

I lay down looking right up at the ceiling.

"Before I begin, I'm giving you a free consultation to get a brain scan," Dr Grundler says.

"A what?" I ask.

"It's procedure, we can make a real start once that's completed," she continues. "We can have a brief demonstration in the meantime."

I don't say anything for a while, so, why hasn't she started yet? I turn to look at her.

"Okay, when your ready," she says, clearing her throat. "Let's start at the beginning. Maddie, _who are you?_ "

* * *

 **"I'm an all loving, all eating, all American blonde bombshell"** I muffle, chewing with my mouth full.

Mr Dude, Spinelli's crush, is an absolute god. What other teacher gives you free food before school? I love saving the food from tutor time in my wow-man purse. I scoff down a brownie and waffle sandwich, chocolate milk duds, munch down some pork chips. Whip cream on everything.

"Do you really have to eat all of that right here and right now?" asks Gretchen, whizzing through her textbook.

"Yes and Yes," I say, digging chocolate out of my pink nails. "I have a healthy relationship with my stomach if you haven't noticed, and, study hall's a good place to refuge."

"We have lunch afterwards if you've forgotten," Gretchen says.

"So I hide what I really eat in front of my teammates at lunch? So what?" I go.

Spinelli and Molly are multi tasking. Their eyes are down on their phones but their mouths are yammering away to each other, I don't care what about.

"Maddie," Mr Dudikoff calls.

"Sir, you didn't see anything," I say, chucking my snacks on to Spinelli and Molly's desk.

"You have an urgent appointment, um, right now as it goes," Mr Dudikoff says, handing me a slip.

"I'm keeping this," says Spinelli to me, pulling my food closer to herself.

"Bye you lot. Have fun with the school work. I'm going on vacay," I say, getting up from my seat, trying to keep a serious face.

"You won't forget us will ya?" asks Spinelli, chomping my food down.

"Sorry. I can't promise anything."

I pick my purse up and get out of study hall. Going down the hall, I head inside the girls bathroom. A few girls are chatting away and taking their time. I check myself out in front of a free mirror and feel my finger under a cold tap. The girls turn their heads at me. I don't say anything. They giggle and shake their heads as they walk out still talking to each other.

It falls silent. I check my reflection. I lower my head underneath each stall. I'm alone. I quickly make my way out and take a chair from a classroom dragging it across the floor back to the bathroom. I'm back inside. I lean the chair to barricade the main door and slide in the lock.

I look back at my reflection. I'm not perfect enough. I need to be more perfect.

Opening up a stall, I find a pen from my purse to use to throw up the junk food. Rid myself of my toxins. I'm not letting out enough sick. I jab the pen further down until I get rid of all of it. This never gets any easier, but nothing worth working for ever is. I reach the top corner of the toilet and flush it. I dump my purse on the counter and stare back at myself. I'm really pale. I put some foundation on my cheeks.

Aw, man. I hate myself. Lets make other people happy.

I return all the things back to their rightful place. I take a quick breath to steady myself. I'm back in high school civilization.

I get a smirk from Deshay and the other hipsters. I banter back and forth with them as I make my way. I pretend to sulk down in a depressed state at the emos, making them break a little grin out which is way out of character for them. Exchanging grins with the jocks who yell at me in their usual jovial mood. Then it's some tech kids using remotes to open their lockers. It's Kumiko giving me a smile.

I stop at the front of the school facing away from her.

"Kumiko!" I yell. I hope that's her name. It's a bit late to get that wrong now. "Heard you speak English really well."

"Mmhm—yeah, I do, but—"

"I know, Kumiko," I reaffirm, turning around on her. "And I know what you said to me."

"Really?" she asks, causing the tech kids to take notice. She ignores them and comes closer up to me. "Then you must know how much of self entitled privileged superficial cheerleader you are."

"Ha!" I go, pointing at her. "I was just bluffing this whole time and you—"

"No you weren't," replies Kumiko, crossing her arms.

"Okay fine. But this isn't over," I threaten. Kumiko walks off. "I haven't thought of revenge yet, but when I do. _Yeah_. It's gonna be totally sucky for you!"

Great. Declare war to one of the elite smart asses of the school. Well done Maddie. Cool points to you.

I head to the Arkansas hospital. I let some of the older people roll out on their wheelchairs before me, as I wait to use the sliding doors. Disinfecting my hands with a squeezy sterilizer before I go inside.

I go to the B wing section. It must be B for Brain scanning.

The doctor calls me in almost immediately from the waiting room. I enter his office. We make a quick greet to each other as he asks me to take a seat. There's an MRI scanning machine in the middle of the room I used a couple days ago. Lot's of hospital stuff. There's a printed, black and blue scan of a brain printing up in front of me. My brain.

The doctor takes out his clipboard. "Does your family have any history of hereditary brain diseases? Brain tumors?" the doctor asks.

"No," I reply.

"Do you take any drugs?"

"Nope."

"Not even the choking game, when kids strangle each other in an attempt to get high?"

"What? No."

"Have you ever been in high altitude? Almost drowned? Stayed for long periods upside down—"

"Yeah," I say, stopping him. "I used to hang upside-down from monkey bars all the time at recess, back in elementary school."

"From your scan results, one would surmise that you were staying upside down for, _hours_ at a time."

"Yeah, so whats your point?" I ask.

"You have Brain hypoxia," he says bleakly.

"Oh 'kay," I say, pondering with a slow nod. "So, what's that?"

"If you look here, Madeline," says the Doc, pointing at my brain scan. "Even though you must've become impervious to nausea, with little to no break, you've developed blocked blood cells to your brain which can cause your brain to not receive enough oxygen. Here in the frontal lobe for example, this is where cells help govern personality and impulsivity. If damaged, there might be no braking mechanism for self-control."

"So, that's why I lash out and stuff," I say.

"It's not uncommon to have intense emotions like, impulsive behaviour, physical outbursts, poor judgement, a lack of empathy—"

"Ha, really?" I go.

"You can also have intolerance of other people, negativity, egocentricity—"

"Hey, that's _so_ not me Doc," I say.

"You're going to have to stay here in the hospital in the psychiatric ward section, so we can keep an eye on you and run some more tests."

"No way! I can't hang around with the walking dead all day. I got high school, friends, cheer leading, I have to lead my girls to Regionals this year."

"I'm sorry but if we don't put you under immediate treatment there is a high and very probable chance that you can get brain damage. Now, there's an institute where Dr Grundler works that has girls with similar mental complications like yours. It's a little bit of a journey from here. Do you have someone to drive you?"

I got no one. Mom's always busy teaching classes. Spinelli's brother Joey could, but I don't think I have his digits. None of my friends from school are old enough, I don't think most of them can even drive yet, let alone own a car. Ah wait. Him. Dustin.

"Yeah."

"Oh, and one more thing," the doctor says. "Make sure you keep to yourself. Some of the girls at the section you're staying at are there because they're severely mentally unstable."

I cover my face for a sec. "What's this place called?"

* * *

Dustin drives me into the opening of the institute. It's dark arches hang over the entrance. I lean my head on the passenger seat. On my lap is the hospital garment the doctor gave me. Outside there's lots of space. Greener than green grass like it's made from fake plastic or whatever is in baby food. On each side, girls my age are blowing out large bubbles that are bigger than they are. Dr Grundler is playing on a golden harp. There are random little kittens walking around. Everything is really bright like it's overdosing on happy pills.

The sign outside reads ' _Unhinged Avenue_ an Institute for girls'. The building itself is large light pink and white grey scale. It's looks like this place got revamped as if the architect was Molly Sanchez with an Etch a Sketch.

Dustin gives me a look. "Well, it's not exactly depressing," he goes, getting out of the car.

"No," I reply, getting out the car and looking around at it all. A kitten crawls around my leg. "That's kinda what's making it creepier."

Girls are running passed us. They have hospital bands on their wrists like me.

Dustin sighs as we walk around on the grass. "Glad we finally agree on something."

I can sense someone looking at us. I look back around at the building's entrance. A man dressed in full white, with his arms crossed is watching every move we're making. He's waiting for us. There are two men in the same boring get-up he has on to his left and on his right.

We get closer. It's him. It's actually him.

" _Shut up!_ " I shout. "It's you!"

It's James Stone. The myth. The legend. The creepy friggin' guy that got TJ thrown out of school.

James looks at Dustin. "You the dad?" he asks him.

"Stepdad," corrects Dustin.

I wave my hands out in front of myself to get a grip. "Stop stop. Hold up, wait a minute, let me put some _stush_ up in it," I rap in a cheer, reciting a song and changing it up to best suit this crap storm. "What are you even doing here?" I ask James Stone. I get a better look at him. He has hair now. A lot of it. I yank his hair with a solid pull. The men beside him in white, pull me off him. "I thought so! I knew you had hair plugs!"

"Maddie!" Dustin goes, holding me off. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's getting in to her."

"Not to worry," says James, fixing his new hair back. "We know each other, don't we Maddie?"

"Well," I say, with a pause. "Not really. We've talked once. All your attention is with my other six friends which you are just going _H.A.M_ on with the lying, the manipulation. We've kinda hopped, skipped and jumped over the _getting to know me_ , _getting know you_ thing."

Dustin looks on at James Stone unsure with what the heck I mean, and so he should. James shrugs it off and gives Dustin over paper on a clipboard for him to sign. Dustin's lead off inside by the two men in white, as James leads me away on to the grass.

I tug James' shirt. " _What the hell are you doing?_ " I ask him in a harsh whisper.

"Giving back," he replies, really quickly as we walk together around the girl's who are playing. "When I heard you were going to the same mental asylum I went to, I just _had_ to be here when that happened."

"Mental asylum?" I say, stopping in my tracks. "This is an institute for girls. No. I'm just here to run tests and stuff."

"You say _institute_. I say _asylum,_ " replies James, getting further ahead.

"Hey!" I shout, running up to him. "Don't walk away from me. I'm telling the police and everyone what you did."

"Go right ahead," he replies, flicking at my hospital band with a tug. "I'm sure everyone will believe a mental patient." He carries on. "Please. Turn me in. I implore you to. I've literally done nothing wrong. All the friends, those destructive six, as the local TV called them one time, did it to themselves."

"That bomb you goss-ed to me. TJ. You—" I say in intervals.

He grabs my arm tight and stares into my eyes. "I'm not saying I'm gonna deny being the conventional evil villain wrong-do-er with new fashionable hair, in your eyes," he snarls, letting go.

"Not entirely accurate with your hair being fashionable, but go on," I smile.

"TJ's one hell of a born leader. He caused havoc to the whole child jurisdictional system. He almost escaped from juvie there and then on New Years with just a rubber duck, a selfie stick, a bobble head and the guard's keys."

" _Shut the front door!_ " I gasp.

" _I won't!_ " replies James. We continue to walk in a faster brisk. "TJ, Vince and all of your friends, they weren't the only kids at school I befriended and influenced. I'm not the reason you lot are wearing those new uniforms. This rabbit hole goes a lot deeper than you think, Alice." He laughs to himself. "Hell! I want you to point me out to the police! I won't stop you. I've got nothing to lose. Nothing." He continues walking and I follow, but I keep my distance this time. "I have no grudge with you. Only for TJ and his friends for them putting me in a mental asylum in the first place. What you did with Spinelli though was great detective work. I have to admit."

"So, you are Matthew Hewitt, then?" I ask.

James Stone looks blankly back at me.

"Mr Cutter?"

No reaction.

"Mr Swine? Mr Glover? Mr Braden? _Miss Trout?"_ I list out at him. His face doesn't change. "But _you are_ pretending to be someone at school again, aren't ya?" I ask, tilting my head at him. He lets his guard down and smirks. "Ah. You're such a weirdo." I stare back around at everything. "So, you went here before it got all girl-ed up?"

"Yep," he replies. We've walked around and back to Dr Grundler on her harp. He looks at her. "Do you wanna get Maddie ready to meet the other girls?"

Dr Grundler nods back at James and rests her fingers from playing. James Stone disappears inside the building. Dr Grundler turns towards me. She welcomes me and asks to give her all my electronic devices.

I take my phone out and text Spinelli.

'Me: James Stone is wiv me LOL. His school disguise is prolly absent 2day!'

Dr Grundler keeps asking me for my phone. I point out my finger at her to wait. She takes my phone off of me before I could hit send.

"Hey!" I say. "That was super important."

"You can have it back at the end of the day," she says.

"It might be too late for that by then."

Pretty much everything in my handbag is put to the side. No phones allowed. No pens. Nothing that has any sharp edges.

"Could you remove your shoe laces please?" she asks me with her hand out.

"'Kay," I reply, putting my hospital gown on the ground. I kneel down as I untie my converse shoes. "Why though? Are they too distracting or something?"

"No, it's policy. Shoe laces encourages negative emotions," she replies, taking them off me. "And your pink bow please?"

"My ties are special. I've gotta have them. They were my grammy's," I explain. "My dad's mom had them, then my dad's mom's mom had them, then my dad's mom's mom's mom—We could be here all day."

"That's precious. I'll keep them safe for you. I promise."

"You see," I say, covering my head. "I don't think they will be."

"You are new, but I have to remove them. In this institute we can't let girls have the initiative to let their conditions get the better of them. I don't want to even mention it, in case it petrifies you as well," Dr Grundler replies.

"I can take it," I say, patting my own chest. "What is it? Lay it on me. You could spell the word out like a cheer."

Dr Grundler sighs. "Lets just say, Maddie, _"_ she goes, coming closer to me with a whisper. _"We have puzzles and board games here, but what we don't play is H-A-N-G man._ "

Huh? What is she even talking about? What's puzzle and board games gotta do with my head ties? Who even plays that game anymore? It's not like they actually—?

"Oh," I gasp. "You mean?" I ask, cranking my neck and pretending to hang myself with my tongue sticking out.

Dr Grundler nods.

"That's dark."

I very slowly give her my head ties. In no way has anything ever bad happened without them. The least I can do is comply.

I walk further on the grass where some girls are. It's so happy here. There is a nice footpath where me and James Stone got to finally meet each other. All the girls are either playing chess or a puzzle on plastic chairs and tables.

" _Hi,_ " goes a girl with a sweet shriek at me.

A fairly shorter girl than me, comes around from behind a tree. She's in a sweatshirt and skirt. Light purple round glasses. Fairly dark brunette hair. Her hair is messy and out of place. I just have the urgency to take control and comb it back straight. I stop myself. Not knowing her enough is the only thing stopping me from fixing her hair myself.

"Hello," I reply to her, with a little wave. "We don't have to wear these do we?" I ask, waving my hospital gown in front of her.

"Hi," she says again with a lower pitch. "Wear those crappy drabs? Nope. Only when they are operating on you. Are you getting operated on? Down to the insides and awesome gory gunk?"

"No I don't think so," I laugh back.

" _Hi,_ " she says yet again, but in a different way. "That's good cause _I will just feint_ if I see any blood."

"Are you okay?" I ask her, afraid to upset her with any condition she may or may not have.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Paige, Amber, Rocket and Blondie," she replies, wiping her hand on her skirt and then stretching it out.

"Maddie," I reply, reaching my hand out for her to shake it. "So, what should I call you?"

"I told you," she replies, stepping back from me and screwing her face up. "I'm Paige _._ Most of the time."

"Who are you now?"

"It depends. A change of conversation is enough to trigger me into a different person," she explains as we walk and talk. " _I know you._ You were upside-down girl. I was the library-kid."

"Sorry. I don't know _you_ , you know, before all of this. I was usually _outside_ during recess all the time."

"Recess," she sighs, looking up at the sky. "I loved recess. Even if it did cause me to suffer an acute manic episode on more than one occasion."

" _Okay._ "

Paige continues to show me around. The more I look the more I'm actually liking it. There's obviously been money well spent to make everything seem happy even if it is artificial.

Several of the girls are doing some of the puzzles, but it looks wrong.

"All the puzzles look too easy," I say. "They're made of like _eight_ pieces."

"They have to be, so no one gets upset," Paige explains.

"Doesn't it get boring here?" I ask.

Paige just shrugs. That must be the reason for this whole place looking the way it does. Have everything childish and on easy mode so that no one can find an excuse to rage. At least, I'm not locked inside. I've been outside all this time. I could catch a tan at this rate.

Dr Grundler walks ahead of us, pulling a plastic chair as she sits down on it. The girls drop everything they're doing and copy what she's doing.

Another girl comes up to Paige and I. "It's time for our circle ferp," she tells us, dragging a chair across the grass.

Paige nudges my shoulder. " _It's our inside joke here. Its where we talk about how we're getting better with our individual problems,_ " she whispers to me.

"Because self improvement is masturbation, right?" I ask her back.

"Exactly!" Paige gasps at me, in a deeper voice.

"Yeah. Circle ferp. I totally get it. Clever," I say. We get some abandoned brightly colored chairs and join them. We reach the circle. I part Paige's hair to whisper in her ear. " _If we start playing duck duck goose though, I'm running out of here._ "

Paige smiles back.

It's a circle of about twenty or so girls. They all look as unpredictable as Paige.

"Thank you, everyone," starts Dr Grundler. She turns to a girl with dark swollen eyes. "Sarah, how are you feeling? How are you keeping up for realizing what you did to your boyfriend?"

"Huh?" shrieks Sarah, with a dark smile. "Well, nothing was keeping me from keying up his bike and burning all his video games. Nothing. That's my answer to _that._ "

A girl laughs at her response as she taps her weave straightened hair with pats of her hand.

"Bea?" Dr Grundler asks that girl. "How are you at feeling remorse for why you are here then?"

"Erm, I'm working at it," replies Bea. "I'm doing that apology letter like you said. It's just hard to think of what to write when I know my ex best friend was in the wrong. Me burning her face off with a curling iron was in retaliation. It was _gonna_ happen. _Mostly_ retaliation."

 _Oh my god!_ I look around at the other girls. They all have a story. Some clearly more brutal than others. I catch eyes with Dr Grundler.

"I'm sorry, Maddie," says Dr Grundler. "This must be a bit much for you."

"No, not really," I say. "High school's full of teenagers hiding who they really are, you know, pretending to be other people and stuff. So it's the honesty I'm trying to get used to."

"Maddie, how have you've coped then?" she asks, before putting her hand out to stop herself. "In fact, tell us a fun fact about yourself that not a lot of people know."

"Um. Well, I'm a girl that likes girls," I reply.

Dr Grundler moves back in her chair. The girls move their chairs closer up to me. It happens at exactly the same time like a knee jerk reaction.

The girl from earlier peps up. "You kissed a girl yet?" she asks me.

"No, not yet, but—" I reply

"Do you like any of _us_?" asks another girl.

"I dunno. Maybe."

All the attention is on me now. All the girls ask me question after question over each other. I don't know what they're asking. Dr Grundler has lost her grasp with them all.

" _Urgh!_ " Paige wails, her arched eyebrows almost touching. She moves her chair away from me. She blinks hard, moves her hair and pushes her chair up close to me again. She puts her arm around me. "That's brave of you to just say it like that."

Did she just dismiss me and encourage nice words in the same breath? That's definitely different. The other girls smile back at Paige like they're all but used to this.

Dr Grundler smiles at Paige and then turns to me. "As you can tell, we're all too familiar with Sour Paige's personalities."

"She's a freak," says a girl, enunciating each word.

"Hey!" I say. "That's way mean."

"Well," goes Dr Grundler. "You _do_ have a persona that very much likes girls, don't you Sour Paige?"

"Blondie," Paige replies, squirming uncomfortably on her chair. "I just escape in the world of books. I used to read aloud in different character's voices in my old private school. I always have done, and then." She pauses as Dr Grundler nods for her to carry on. "The Ashley quadfecta. They all said I talk to myself. It escalated to people in school ignoring me. Calling me different names. Pretending to talk to themselves like me. I got panic attacks, but there was no library I could hide to so—"

"That's when you made those different parts of yourself," adds Dr Grundler. She gets off her chair and kneels at Paige. She softly holds her hand. "Let the pain go, okay? Let the hurt go. Let the shame go. Your different personalities. That world you control in your head. That place can be as real as _any_ pain."

I didn't know rumors could do all of this to someone. Well, okay, I know it's possible, but I didn't know to _this_ extent.

Whats wrong with me?

Paige smiles as Dr Grundler goes back to her chair. Paige looks at me with seduction as she creaks eyes, flicks her eyebrows and pouts her lips at me in a pucker. Is she coming on to me? With a blink, Paige's face immediately changes back to a sweet and innocent grin again. Is it even Paige who doesn't like that I'm gay or is it another one of her alter egos? I think she does have a thing for me, at least, one of her personalities does.

"Maddie," Paige says.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I can see where you're coming from. I think I'll never spread a rumor again another day that I live."

"Wow Maddie, that means a lot," says Paige with a smile. "I'm surprised you can see me at all, _all the way_ up there from your ivory tower."

"Paige?" I say, getting up from my chair. "I said I'm sorry. What the hell?"

Another girl from the circle shrieks in delight. "Nope! Blondie alert!"

Paige keeps up this menacing look. "Why don't you go stay at the normal high school for normal people," Paige says. "Your dad's got the right idea."

"He's not my real dad!" I say.

"I know," Paige says. "Seems like your daddy got out of your life, first chance he got."

I grab Paige's hair. The other girls start shouting. Dr Grundler tries to intervene. Sour Paige laughs maniacally as she punches my sides. I mean, Blondie does. I fling her on the ground. I stare down at her. My nose is bleeding. Hows that even possible? She never even took a solid swing at me. Did she?

I'm light headed. The back of my head hits the ground hard. My head starts jerking from side to side. I can't stop. What the hell is happening to me? It's getting harder to breath. I can taste the food I ate earlier. Its all acidic and I feel it spread on my chest. Spit and vomit comes frothing out of my mouth. I can't stop my head from shaking. I'm fighting myself but I can't win.

I hear the rush of footsteps and bloodcurdling screams around me. Everyone's panicking and all I'm hearing is, "Oh my god!" "Seizure!" "Maddie's having a seizure!"

Oh great. I'm gonna randomly die a bulimic barbie in front of everyone.

How embarrassing.

I see the sky.

I see black.

* * *

I see white.

I'm inside the institute. I'm actually in my hospital gown now, but I'm laying on a bed. There's a ventilator next to me detecting my heartbeat. This thing clipped on my finger. I take it off. I can feel tubes in my nose. There are guys in white talking ahead of me.

James Stone leans his head at me. "Can you hear me?" he asks me. "What's your name?"

"Maddie. _Duh,_ " I reply.

James turns back around at the other men who are standing at the foot of the bed.

"I don't know how to say this," he says.

"Can I just go? I'm all right now. See," I say, sitting up right on my bed.

"Maddie, let me just break it down so you'll understand," James Stone starts, all shaky with his voice breaking. The doctor from Arkansans checks the water linked to my arm on the side. "If you so much as have one more outbreak, it could be fatal. Maddie. If you get mad one more time, you could die."

"What?" I shout. "Ya'll totally not being funny right now."

I rip all my tubes off. I get on my bed standing up. The guys in white push me back down on the bed.

"Get off me!" I shout.

They all pull me down.

"Hey!" he shouts, pushing off some of the men.

He pushes me down himself. He takes out a needle.

"No! Get the hell off!"

"Pass me that oxygen mask," he orders the guys.

He pushes the mask on my face. I shake my head from side to side to get it away. I feel a thin pain in my neck.

Everything's fuzzy. It takes all the men in white to push the oxygen mask on me.

Everything disappears again.

* * *

 **Sour Paige gets her mouth smothered by the hands of other cheerleaders.** She fights back to no avail. They move their hands in and out mimicking a heart beat. They spin and catch her, cushioning her fall from an awesome stunt into a cheer. They jump up and down giving each other high fives and hugs. I guess it was all pretend. A part of their act. All their cheer leading outfits are bright pink. Dang. So are mines. What am I wearing?

Where am I?

I'm in the outskirts of the woods. The sky is clear with a few dabs of clouds like in a portrait. It's greeny-blue in a dreary dream state. The ground is nestled with nothing but dry leaves and tree stumps.

Dustin is next to me. Oh my gosh. He's dressed like a boring suburban step dad, with glasses on and a cardigan turtle neck.

"Don't move. This is gold," I say to Dustin, putting my arm around him. I take out my phone and take a selfie with him. He smiles back at the camera. It's James Stone on my other side. James Stone is dressed even sillier. He's bald again with only the side action of hair going on. A round bongo head with a sweat band around it. To top it all off he's wearing short shorts. "And you. Why are you dressed like that? Did you really take to heart when I said your new hair plugs weren't fashionable?"

Dustin looks proud at me. "She's a real hoot, this one," says Dustin, adjusting his glasses.

James Stone feels around his bald spot insecurely. "I'm sure everyone will love her here," James goes.

I take everything in. Behind James is a large wooden cabin. The sign outside of it says ' _Cheerleader Camp_ for girls.' Dustin gives me a hug and hands over my luggage out of the boot of his car. The _honk if your horny_ plate is gone. He follows two helpers wearing the same color scheme as James Stone into the big cabin that's roughly the same size as the institute. James moves further down this camp as I follow him by his side. Some cheerleaders are practicing drills further ahead, where I saw Sour Paige. Outdoor tents. Large trees. A large lake at the far end in front of us sparkles off the sun's rays.

"You're gonna have such a swell time," says James, sounding completely different, yet entirely genuine. He points beyond the lake. "Opposite the lake is the Band Camp for boys." He pauses and stares back at me with sincere eyes. "Like I said before, I'm your camp counselor and if you have any questions. Talk to me."

"Hmm, w _hat about,_ " I say, thinking out loud, scrunching up my lips. "What the frig is going on?"

James shifts his eyes. "Uh. We don't really condone bad words here. We _do_ have a swear jar. I think it's in Coach Grundler's office."

I hold the temple of my forehead and let go of my luggage roller. _Coach_ Grundler? What kind of alternate reality is this?

"Okay, stop," I say, halting James Stone with my hand out. "What's actually happening here? I was just in a bed and now I'm in some cheerleader get-away?"

James chuckles. "I know how you feel. We were all just in bed and now where back to the hustle and bustle of life. But don't worry, you'll get used to waking up this early."

"No, I meant—"

James pulls me by the arm. He takes me outside a small cabin. He knocks a few times at the door. We walk in and Dr Grundler has turned into a coach. A brightly colored whistle around her neck in a camping uniform. Counselor James puts a nickle in her swear jar before he leaves us two alone.

"Hey, happy camper! I'm—" she starts.

"I know. Coach Grundler," I reply, taking out my possessions. I hand her my phone and undo my head ties.

"What are you doing, silly?" she asks, getting out of her chair as she pushes my things back at me. She walks me out of her small cabin office.

"It's dangerous to keep my head ties and my phone with me, isn't it?" I ask her back.

"The only thing dangerous is not having a _can do_ attitude," she replies, as we walk down her short porch. "We don't have any signal here anyway." She takes the handle of my bag. "I'll put your luggage in the girl's sleeping tent for you."

I thank her and find myself gravitating towards James. He's not the same beady eyed weirdo he was before. He's talking to one of the cheerleader campers. He's there with Paige.

He notices me. "Sour Paige, would you like to show Maddie around? Get her familiar with everything?" he asks her.

She looks at me. Paige has lost her glasses, her hair is so prettier and her subtle use of makeup is on point. "Uh, I don't know, um. I'm not exactly a believer of the buddy system. Why don't you ask Rocket?"

Rocket? Another one of her personalities? Here we go.

Sour Paige stares at the ground without giving me a look. Counselor calls Rocket over and another girl camper emerges.

"Rocket, show our new girl the ropes," says Counselor James Stone. "I hear there's talk that she's in line to give up your lipginity to Boy Wonder. Hint hint."

"Really?" replies Rocket, raising her eyebrows. "She just got here."

I've seen this girl before. She's—She's—Oh my god, my bestie from high school.

"Molly?" I ask her.

It's definately Molly. Her hair is brunette with light pink highlights on the tips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rocket asks back.

"Sorry," I reply, as I notice Rocket is neither Molly or Paige. She's her own person. "You remind me of someone."

Rocket pulls my hand and leads me away from Counselor Stone and Sour Paige as they go their separate ways as well. Rocket points to me the tents that we'll be sleeping in. She shows me the lake that separates Cheer leading camp and Band Camp.

Rocket turns to me by the lake. "I don't know how a boy likes you already, but the closest thing to _boy_ is on the other side of the lake. It's so close, yet so far. Like it's taunting us," she says.

"I don't think I'm gonna be worried about them," I say.

Rocket seems not to care much with my response and moves off to where the other girls are stretching. "Maddie, you've already met Sour Paige," she says, as Paige finally flashes a look at me. "This is Amber." Who looks like Gretchen, she gives me a wave. "And Blondie." Who looks like Spinelli, who nods at me.

They don't even look like my old friends would. I've seen Gretchen without glasses before, Molly without pink hair and I'm getting used to this new Paige. It's just the fact that this alternate-reality-Spinelli is rocking this cats eye makeup. It's unbelievable. I can't keep myself from giggling. I accidentally snort.

Blondie glares at me. "What made you chortle like that?" she asks.

Sour Paige stands up for me saying, "be nice to her," but still very timidly. "Counselor Stone says she's losing her lipginty to Boy Wonder."

Blondie stares at her reflection off her pocket mirror, and then looks me up and down. "She's no lip-virgin," Blondie snarls.

Rocket, who I have to remember is not Molly, takes some chewing gum out for herself. The other girls ask for some but she says she's all out.

Amber nudges me. "You have any gum?" she asks, peering at my handbag. "I mean, it's worth a shot asking you, seeing as a girl's handbag is like a black hole. It can hold anything."

"Watch out!" Blondie says. "She might take out the whole marching band and make out with all of them. I know her type. She thinks she's too good to be here."

I reach in my handbag. I don't even need to hold in any aggression. These are all my friends in my eyes. I take out the jawbreakers Gus was getting rid of from Kelso's. It's the super candy from Japan that I never got to try.

"I don't have gum," I reply. "I only got suckerpunch."

Rocket takes her gum out and sticks it behind her ear. "What's suckerpunch?" she asks me, taking one.

"Punch flavored jawbreakers," I reply. I turn to Amber, giving her a sweet. "I bet you know how many licks it takes to get to the middle."

Amber scrunches her nose and shakes her head. "No. Why?"

"Um. No reason."

Get it through your thick skull Maddie. This is not the smart brainiac Gretchen anymore, this is Amber. A multiple personality of Sour Paige come to life.

Coach Grundler turns up and sets down her bucket full of bottles of water and pom poms.

"Let me get a good look at you," goes Coach Grundler, examining my face. "Hm. You seem cool enough," she continues in a chippy attitude. She goes over to her speakers on the wooden picnic table. "I'm going to play some music, okay? I want you to shake off that bad mood. Feel the music. Let it into your heart, and when you're ready, I want you to make up a cheer."

The music starts playing. Typical pop. Not really the hip hop I'm used to dancing to with my team at school. Stone and other camp leaders come over to watch.

I don't do anything.

"Don't be a little grouchy bear," Coach Grundler says, as she gets closer whispering in and out of my ears. " _If you do not make a cheer, you'll be a negative Nancy. And we don't keep negative Nancys here. If you're not even gonna try then you're gonna have a bad time. We won't say anything if you can't keep up._ " She lifts out her pinky finger like a hook and I link it with mine. "You have all the weapons you need. So are you gonna fight or flight?"

She starts the music again. Counselor Stone is about to leave. I pop a suckerpunch in my mouth. I begin to sway. Lifting my hands in claps, spinning around and closing my eyes.

I feel a snowflake fall on my eyelash.

I open my eyes.

Everyone's and everything's vanished. I'm all alone. It's a courtyard completely covered in white snow. Its like I'm in a fantasy inside of a fantasy. The only things surrounding me are tall walls and along down one end is a temple with a tiny creek opening on the door. I walk towards it. I wrap my arms around myself to hold on to the little warmth that I have left. My breath vapor comes out like steam. I walk carefully up the steps so I don't slip.

I'm inside the temple. Ahead of me are many lit candles.

"Hello?" I yell, as I hear my own voice echo.

I head inside further. There's a skinny guy crossed legged cleaning a sword with a tissue. I step up the short stairs up to him.

"Sorry to disturb you, could you—?" I ask, getting a better look at him. It's Jimmy dressed like a Japanese sword smith. "Hey Jimmy."

"I don't know this Jimmy that you speak of. I'm Wise Guru," he replies, staring back at me. "What can I do for you my child?"

This is just like seeing the Guru kid again back in Third Street. The trusted Buddhist monk. Something must of triggered in my memory to see all of this happening. I need to wake up though. I need to get out of here.

"I started dancing as I made up a cheer in a camp and now I'm in Japan somewhere? It's really confusing. If you could give me a way out that would be—"

"A way out?" asks Wise Guru. "Do you really want a way back to reality or is there something more that you really seek?"

"Uh," I say, pausing as I ponder for a second. "I want someone to get what they deserve for what they did to my friends, but—"

"Justice" says Wise Guru, with a nod. "I'm going to help you find retribution."

"What do I need to do?"

"These are your weapons," he says. He reveals a box with a silver pistol inside. The gun has a cute link charm with baubles hanging on a golden lanyard. A little hourglass, a teddy bear, a pink rabbit, a baby bottle and a skull. He raises up one of two katana swords and puts it in my hand.

I grip the sword and let go. "You know what? I think I can find my own way out," I say, as I back away from him. I walk up to the door that's still gaping open. "Thanks anyway!"

This dumb fantasy has to come to an end already. I walk out to the top of the stairs. On the other side of the snowy courtyard is a samurai. A large sword is in his hand that he's scraping across the ground making sparks. He tilts his head in his shaded mushroom-like hat at me. He's in a stance ready to fight me. He's blocking any chance of an exit.

I stroll back inside the temple. "Totally-not-Jimmy-wise-guru-person! There's a samurai out there if you haven't noticed!" I walk back up the steps, pointing my thumb outside. "You two bros, or neighbors or—?"

"He's not waiting for _me,_ " replies Jimmy, opening an eye out from meditating.

I turn back around and then look back at his weapons. A gun and two katana swords.

This is nuts.

"All right. All right, " I say, going on my knees to Wise Guru's eye level. "I'll listen."

"When you take these rad weapons you begin your journey to the other side," he says. Wise Guru hands me over two swords and straps them on my back. He gives me the pistol along with a gun holster. He leads me back to the front door of the temple. "You will need five items for this journey. The first is a key. Then a bobble head, a rubber duck and a selfie stick."

"Oh, obvi," I sigh. "It had to be those unusual items TJ used to almost escape juvie. You said _five_ things."

"The fifth thing is a mystery. It is the reason. It is the goal. It will be a deep sacrifice and a perfect victory."

"It's me," I say. " _I'm_ the fifth thing. It's not much of a mystery, is it? I'm supposed to sacrifice myself. Uh, no chance."

"Well, i _f you say so,_ " says Wise Guru with a shrug. "Oh, and one more thing," he goes, facing me outside with the samurai still waiting for me. "Remember. Keeping your anger in check can be cashed in not only in combat, but also in life."

"Okay," I reply, trying to keep my nerve. Jimmy slowly walks off back inside. "Is that it? No quick tutorials on sword fighting or how to defend myself?" I sigh and turn back outside. " _BRB._ "

The samurai stands in the middle of the courtyard. He throws his hat to the side. He has hackimaki headband around his head with Japanese letters and a red dot. It waves in the wind. He lifts up his head. I know him. It's Deshay.

"How ironic!" Deshay says, rotating his wrist with his sword. "A cheer _leader_ who does nothing but _follow_ celebrities on Chitter all day."

"How does one even turn from hipster to weeaboo? _Aw_ , did you run out of second hand clothes and now you're resorting on hentai for that first hand experience?" I tease, moving my hand up and down in the jerking off motion. I turn away and look at the audience. "Hey reader. Yeah, yes you."

Deshay looks around. "Who are you talking to?"

I turn back at you. "This fan fic has taken a drastic turn in the way of _traditional fluff,_ " I explain, emphasizing bunny ear quotes with my fingers. "So, when you're yucking it up, reading this on your laptop or on your cell phones or on your potato, whatever it may be. Remember. Don't try this at home. And don't kill a good girl's confidence just cause she's a nerd and you don't know what a platonic boy friend is." I measure up at Samurai Deshay and stop. I turn back at you. "Oh, and there are so many better stories than this one. Like there's this slash fan fiction between TJ and Lawson that is _so_ cute. Oh my god. Like TJ was blushing holding Lawson in his arms and—"

"Enough!" slams Deshay as he kicks me across the courtyard.

I fly back and hit my head on a wall. Ow. I feel a bump form on the back of my head. I adjust the swords on my back. I shake my head.

I run at Deshay. I sway my sword at him. He deflects all my hits. I fight with my heart. My anger flows through my veins. I get angrier and make him fall back away from me. He barges his shoulder into me. I duel my sword against his. Our faces almost touch. I dodge his attacks. He cuts me by the stomach. My block does very little as he pushes me away. I fall on the ground again.

He slowly paces back and forth at me.

I get up. There's a cut across my cheer leading top. I taste blood. I wipe my nose. There's blood dripping from my nose. I'm getting woozy. It's like there are three Deshay samurai's now.

I clash swords with him again. I go one way, then the other with my two katanas. He's too fast. Lifting my pistol out, I fire. I'm so dizzy. I'm so angry. I don't know which one is him. I shoot but miss every shot. I fall on my knees.

My head is killing me. I hold my head. Deshay stands over me with his sword right next to me. He's ready to strike his final blow. I need to stay calm. Like Wise Guru said. I close my eyes. He swings his sword at my head. I'm focused. I block his attack with my two katanas. He puts his weight on. I push back.

I back-flip back on my feet. Deshay looks back at me astonished. Maybe I'm not as quick or as strong as he is, but I'm more flexible than he is.

We stare at each other as the snow slowly settles on our faces.

He runs at me. He slings his sword. I dodge with cartwheels. He has guns of his own. He pulls out a turret gun. I fully twist my body away from the bullets in side ariels and round offs. The walls blow away. Debree flings in the air. I'm leaving tracks in the snow. His gun makes a squeak. His bullets have run out.

This fight has turned upside down. He's the one frustrated making mistakes. He throws his sword in waves across me. He's getting tired. I slash his torso. I cut his arm. I slice his leg. He's not quitting. I'm defeating him like the death of a thousand cuts. His sword falls on the snow. He falls to his knees.

"It can't be!" pants Deshay, breathing off pace. "How'd you do that?"

"Beginners luck?" I say, with a shrug.

I spin around with my two katanas and slice his neck. A rainbow of jawbreakers fly off the slit in every direction. A key hangs in the air. It's all pixelated like a video game. I grab it with my hand with a tight grip as I close my eyes.

I open my eyes again.

I'm panting with sweat coming from my forehead. I'm standing in a final pose with my hand out in a fist. The cheerleaders, Coach Grundler and Counselor James Stone are all clapping for me. The music stops.

There's a cut exposing my belly button where Deshay cut his sword into me. In my hand there's a real key in my grasp. Counselor Stone walks away with a delighted grin. Blondie looks at me with surprised wide eyes.

That was weird.

Yep.

That was very weird.

* * *

 **We sit in a circle around the camp fire as we're roasting our marshmallows.** It's the dead of night, almost. I'm focused on the fire. Watching the soft sweet on the stick slowly turn into a s'more. Amber, Rocket and Blondie sit around me and the other girls. Counselor Stone is tuning the strings on his ukulele. Sour Paige, whose next to Counselor Stone, takes her lips away from her clarinet and gives me a shaky smile. Her instrument reflects off the fire a little bit. I make sure everyone is looking away. I slowly sneak away from the camp fire.

I'm on my feet walking off. It's a full moon.

I walk into our large square tented house for five. Taking some chalk out, I write on the double sided chalkboard. The girls come back in the tent. Sour Paige brings Amber, Rocket and Blondie along with her. I write the five items. Key. Bobble head. Rubber duck. Selfie stick. Sacrifice. I scrap a cross through key.

Amber sits down on her sleeping bag mattress. "How did you just make up a cheer like that on the spot?" asks Amber at me.

Rocket shakes her head at her. "No one impresses Coach Grundler like that," says Rocket.

Blondie huffs out, "Are you kidding me? Coach is a sweetheart. Maddie couldn't _not_ impress her, even if she _tried_. It's just that the cheer—"

"It was good wasn't it?" Rocket finishes.

"Yeah," replies Blondie. "It was so _goody goody_ and so _happy go lucky_ to the nth degree that I thought talking animals were gonna make a cameo in it."

"Mhmm," goes Sour Paige. "We've never seen anyone grasp on to the happy camper vibe so quickly before."

I take out my key and twirl it in my hand. "Hows this for grasping the vibe," I say, throwing the key on my mattress. "I can't explain it, but when I was cheering I was in a fantasy. I was in a different dimensional thingy. I talked to a Wise Guru. I fought with a samurai. It's where I got weapons and this key."

The four girls look at me like I'm crazy.

"What's it open?" Sour Paige asks.

"I don't know," I reply. "I need to find these items so I can go to the other side and find retribution."

"Hey, Hot Shot!" Blondie calls at me. "If you're so sure you got these _weapons,_ then where are they? Shouldn't they have come back with the key too?"

"Maybe they're in my fantasy still," I say.

"And that's probably where they're gonna stay," adds Blondie.

"Quiet Blondie!" tuts Rocket and nods for me to go on.

"Yeah, um," I reply, turning from Rocket to the rest of them. "All we have to do is cheer together with suckerpunch sweets and there's no reason you shouldn't see what I see."

Sour Paige looks really unsure. "In the middle of the woods at night?" shrieks Sour Paige.

Rocket nods. "Fraidy Cat's got a point," says Rocket. "We're gonna be off our heads in a lucid dream in the hope that you're right about everything. Whats in it for us? Retribution for what?" She pauses and looks at me. "When you say the other side you mean the Boys Band Camp, right?"

I never asked Jimmy by what he meant by the other side. I stop myself from saying how I don't know. I need these girls with me.

"Yeah," I lie. "You help me. We all go to the Boys Band Camp on the other side."

Amber nudges Sour Paige. "Maybe now you can really find your clarinet skills with the band camp. It's no secret your parents forced you to cheer lead over what you really wanted do," she says.

Rocket goes, " _We_ didn't land on cheerleader camp, the camp landed on _us._ "

Everyone grins and nods in approval. They're all on board, except for Blondie.

"Boys are not the be all and end all of everything," says Blondie.

A voice appears from the tent's opening and goes, "Why not?"

"Jebus Cripes!" Sour Paige yells, as we all flinch in fright too.

I hide my list by turning the chalk board back around.

It's Counselor Stone with his back to us as he enters our tent backwards, with his hands over his eyes. "Sorry to disturb you ladies. Just to remind you five that we _do have_ lights out in ten minutes."

I know he's walking with his back turned to us so he doesn't catch us undressing. But he doesn't look half creepy when he does so.

All the girls leave the tent going passed Counselor Stone.

"Where are you girls going?" asks Counselor Stone.

Amber turns around slowly backing out. "You said we've got ten minutes, right?" replies Amber to Counselor Stone, but looking directly at me when she does.

Everyone has left. I look back at my five item list. What am I trying to bring justice to? Myself to get out of this dream state? TJ to get out of juvie? For somebody else?

I gather up my key. I look at my mirror. There's a flicker behind me. Blondie spins me back around, pressing her lips hard against mine. She's caught me by surprise. She's pushes me against the tent's wall. Our mouths collide.

Blondie finally pulls her lips back from against mines. "I knew it," says Blondie, looking back at me. "I knew you were no lip-virgin."

"I, uh, I—" I stutter.

"See you in the woods, Maddie," says Blondie, giving me a sultry smile.

I touch my lips in shock. Wow. That was, um. I wonder if the real Spinelli would kiss like that.

I make my way out of the tent. Blondie and the other girls have had a head start. The camp fire is still ablaze. Counselor Stone is singing a song with the other campers. Trying not to make a sound, I go deeper through the woods. It's getting darker. There's the ruffling of footsteps. I reach around a tree and I see the four girls as they do their stretches.

They acknowledge me. I give them a suckerpunch candy each. I take out my phone, play my music on speaker, and then stuff it in a gap in a tree.

"What are you doing?" asks Rocket, pausing the music coming from my phone. "They might hear us. We're deep in the woods already. Would it kill us to cheer in acapella or something?"

"I think we need to be lost in the music too," I reply.

"It's okay," says Amber.

"Of course," jeers Blondie, popping a sweet in her mouth, making it bulge a bump. "If this cheer falls through, we can blame this entirely on Maddie."

I nod and smile back at her. I can still feel her kiss. We stand in formation. I put the music back on, but a bit lower in volume. I slip the candy in mouth. We step together. We clap in sequence. I turn around in a spin.

My feet stepped apart. I close my eyes.

I open my eyes.

Ash falls all around like snowflakes. I'm in my fantasy again. I can feel two katanas on my back. My pistol in my holster. It's the middle of a war Armageddon. There are blimps in the sky. Shots being fired. The sky tinted to a golden yellow.

"Maddie! Maddie!" Blondie calls me. I turn around at her. "Sergeant's waiting for you so he can start the briefing for us."

I follow Blondie to where the other girls are standing around with different guns in their hands. They turn back around where the sergeant is coming towards us. It's Jimmy again, but he's dressed as an army general this time.

He must be my guardian angel.

"Okay girls. Here's the drill," starts Sergeant Jimmy, taking a toothpick out from the side of his mouth. "Our mission is to infiltrate the enemies talisman, that holds significant importance. A bobble head. We're gonna cross no man's land, enter the enemy trenches and intercept it. Get it? Got it? Good."

Rocket flicks a finger up. "What's so special about a stupid bobble head?"

"It will show it's importance in time," replies the Sergeant, looking at me and then Rocket.

"Amber," says the Sergeant. "I've arranged something special for you, to help us get rid of the initial horde of them. Let's go."

Sergeant leads the way out to our own trench. The five of us girls walk together like a team. Everyone's got their game face on. I'm in the middle with Sour Paige right next to me. Blondie blowing out her suckerpunch bubblegum. Rocket and Amber are on either side sucking on their sweets with menace. It feels like it's in epic slow-motion.

Amber runs up to the mecha the Sergeant left for her. It's a big gun wielding robot with it's own jet pack on the back.

The Sergeant pokes his head out of the trench. "Don't feel bad about killing them. They're already dead," says Sergeant Jimmy, sniping a soldier with a head shot.

"Zombies?" I ask, sneaking a peek through his sniper's lens.

"Obviously," says Sergeant reloading his sniper rifle. "But they're already _dead in the inside too,_ " Jimmy emphasizes again.

Sour Paige's eyes widen. "You don't mean?" she gasps.

"Uh-huh," answers Jimmy with a nod.

"Emo zombies," I say.

"You got it!" replies Jimmy taking out another horde of them. "Oh, and one more thing!" starts Jimmy, turning back at us all. "Remember! Finger guns are not just for posing with! Its sometimes more effective to draw a _valid point_ than a _real gun!_ " He shoots another Emo zombie beyond death with a shot through it's skull.

Sergeant Jimmy jumps completely over the trench to the fight against the open fire.

We go over the side of the trench and find cover. We take short sharp shot's against the Emo zombie soldiers. Amber is in her mecha making a path for us as we move over to no man's land. We reach the enemies trenches. The Emo zombies haven't noticed us yet. I notice Drake amongst them. He has green moldy skin. He's wearing a full black soldier uniform with a skull badge.

"Hey! You unamused face _emo_ jis!" I yell at them, mimicking the way Drake moves his hair away from his eyes.

The Emo's spin around at us. They're taken off guard with all their guns still on the ground.

Drake gets up and shakes his hair away from his eyes. "Wow. A cheerleader fighting zombies. Cause I've never seen _that_ before," Drake replies, as the zombies get behind him. "If you have lollipop and chainsaws you'll probably get sued for copyright infringing."

"How considerate of you," I say, whipping out my gun and weighing it in my hand. "Our jawbreakers and machine guns will do, though. Thanks."

"Jawbreakers?" moans an emo zombie.

I shoot that emo zombie through the mouth making the side of his face collapse. "See. _Jaw-breaker,_ " I say.

The emo's reach for their guns and shoot at us. I whip out my katanas and reflect their bullets with swipes of my swords. The girls behind me join in the battle. I interchange with my swords and my pistol. Doing no look shots. Slicing their bodies open as sweets splash out instead of blood. Sour Paige is petrified and shoots with her mini gun with her eyes closed. She notices that she actually killed a few zombies. She starts laughing maniacally, going further in to the fight without us.

"Hey!" I shout, trying to call her back. I look over at Rocket. "Someone should go after her. I don't know if we can actually die in this fantasy or not."

Rocket has an emo zombie holding her from behind. She runs back into a wall, throwing him off. "She'll be okay. She always is," says Rocket.

I slice some emo zombies out of my way. I reach inside a meeting room. It's ten or so emo zombies sitting down around a table. Above them is the glowing pixelated bobble head twirling around like a hologram. I react first and throw my katana through the head of an emo zombie, pinning him against the wall. I fight them all. Blocking swipes of their guns from close range. Throwing an emo in front of me like a human shield. Kicking over chairs. It's a bloodbath of candy. The bobble head is gone. There's an emo zombie I've missed that's running away with it. I retrieve my sword from the wall. I leave that emo zombie alive. There's no time to finish him off.

I run after him. There's fighting all around us. The trench is full of it. The other girls are preoccupied. The emo zombie jumps on to a hanging rope. He gets pulled further into the sky. Closer to the fleeing blimp. I shoot at him. My gun's empty. He waves at me. He's getting further and further away. I've lost him. He's out of sight now.

 _Boom!_

Mud splatters everywhere. A hole is gaping to my right. I turn around. A zombie, the one I kept alive, tried to take my head off with a rocket launcher. I stride towards him. He's panicking as he reloads. I slice his head off. I take his rocket launcher. I swing it around and aim at the blimp. I shoot. Fire blasts out from the side of the large flying ship. The blimp falls and deflates wheezing backwards and forwards as it dives towards the ground.

I jump over the trench. I run through no man's land. The emo zombie is falling with the item. I vault over the trench where he's landing. He drops just ahead of me. I corner him by the wall. I hold him by the collar and move for the item.

"Let him go!"

I turn around still holding him. It was an emo zombie who said that. They're soldiers everywhere. A horde of a hundred of them. Each and every one of them pointing their gun in my face. They tell me to drop my weapons. I drop my pistol. They take it away from me. The emo with the bobble head takes my two katanas out of my holster and joins his comrades. He holds my swords against me.

Think Maddie think. It's my fantasy. Maybe I make the rules. Staring at my hands I stick out my finger like a gun. Like Sergeant told me. I point it right at the emo holding my swords.

"Pew!" I say, shooting with my finger.

Bang. A hole pierces through his skull. Sweets flood out the back of his head. He throws the item high in the air. I hear shooting coming from behind me. Gun shots slaughter all of the emo zombies. Helmets and emo chains go flying. It was Sour Paige in front of Amber's mecha that did that. It wasn't my finger point. I don't make the rules in these fantasies, but I sure do dictate them.

The bobble head has been thrown really high. The emo zombies must have some super sonic strength. Amber turns her mecha robot around. I jump on it's back. The other girls hang on to the limbs of the robot. Amber shoots into the sky, with fire shooting out of the hands of the mecha. The bobble head's falling back down. I measure it. I catch the item with a solid grab. All the girls and I fly away from the battle.

I close my eyes as I grip the item.

I open my eyes.

We're in a cheerleader pyramid. I'm on the top with my hands gripping a bobble head. All five of us our panting, trying to find our breath back. The girls roll me down as they cushion my fall with their hands. Sour Paige walks away holding her head.

They all look stunned.

Blondie looks at me as they're all still holding me in their arms. "I think it's fair to say I believe you," says Blondie.

"Let's do it again!" shouts Sour Paige, jumping up and down.

The three girls drop me on my back in shock.

They look down at me to see if I'm okay. I start to laugh at Sour Paige. The girls join in too.

* * *

 **I can't get away from Counselor Stone's smiley creeper stare.** I drop my stick I'm training with. I move right **.** He moves right. I move left. He moves left. The sun beats down on us. It's a random encounter I can't get away from. I'm in a role playing game it seems. My HP is in the corner of my eye in a long green bar. I've got the option to either fight or run. Counselor Stone keeps smiling at me. A box appears saying, 'I can't escape.'

"You don't say," I moan out loud, rolling my eyes.

" _What was that_?" asks Counselor Stone at me, readjusting his sweat band with a snap. "Maddie, it's a real pleasure having you here. I'm hearing nothing but good things from you."

Boxes appear under my peripheral. I've got some options to hit him back with. Shall I use _sarcasm_? Should I use _sass_? Or should I be a _smart ass_? Hmm. I choose sarcasm.

"Really?" I sigh, as I start to walk off.

"But!" says Counselor Stone, getting uncomfortably close to make me stop. "There is a _tiny weeny_ nit pick I've got. Here in Cheerleader camp we pride on being one hundred percent true and honest with one another and I feel like you and the four girls, Paige, Amber, Rocket and Blondie are keeping something from me. Now, I trust that you _aren't_ because that would be such a _downer,_ and I know you girls are not like that, right?"

"Right," I reply.

I look away and my HP health bar has gone down by half.

"Because anything that goes against our rules like, I dunno, cheer leading at night when you should be sleeping, will automatically force me to, _take you out,_ " he says with a straight face.

"Take me out?" I whimper.

I'm all alone in the deep woods with him. No one would hear me scream. My health bar depletes faster. I've only got a quarter of health left.

"Yeah. Take you out of cheerleader camp, silly," says Counselor Stone.

"Oh, take me out of camp. _True that,_ " I reply.

Counselor Stone grins wildly and walks ahead of me back to camp. He's on to us.

I kick away the sticks I've been training with. I walk up to Coach Grundler's cabin. I knock a few times until she invites me in. She greets me **.** I sit on her long lounge couch and try to relax my body on it. I try to get Counselor Stone out of my mind.

"This is a nice surprise. So, how are things, Maddie? Are you coping well?" asks Coach Grundler, resting her hands under her chin.

"I don't know," I reply, looking up at the wooden ceiling. "I mean, I just talked to the Counselor and he—"

"What?" interrupts Coach. "Did he say something to you that was inappropriate? Did he hurt you? You can tell me."

"No, nothing like that," I reply, looking back at her. "He just mentioned _home_ and I just. I don't know what's waiting for me out there. I'm so caught up in my fantasies." I stop. I look over at Coach Grundler whose taking this all in. "I mean, my friends are here and I'm forgetting everything else like this is all that matters."

"It's okay to wanna be with your friends or in your fantasies, whatever you call it," says Coach.

"No," I say, sliding up on the chair. "This is gonna sound crazy, but Blondie looks like someone I know, so does Amber and Rocket."

"Who do they look like?"

"Um," I ponder, thinking. Wait. I'm stumped. Come on. I know my own friends.

"What are their names?"

I don't say anything.

"What's the name of your school?"

"I don't know," I reply. "This is crazy! I know the name of my school, and the name of my school is." I stop. I'm blocked by a brick wall. I can't remember. I can't remember anything or anyone.

"Maddie, what's my name?"

"You're Coach Grundler. I hang around with Sour Paige, Blondie and the others. I know _all that_. I'm gonna have a baby sister. My mom. I don't know her name," I say, tensing my brain hard. I feel a trickle coming from my nose. It's blood.

Coach Grundler comes towards me startled and hands me a box of tissues. "Oh my god, are you okay?" she asks. I nod back. "Oh shoot!" she shouts. She reaches in her pocket and puts two nickles in her swear jar. She holds my head to feel my temperature. "What do you remember before going to camp?"

"It's in patches. Like, there's you being my doctor, you know in my fantasy, I mean this is the fantasy."

"No it's not. This is what's really happening. This is real," she says comforting me.

"I do remember I have a condition," I recall. I think back. Mr Seshadri's R.E class. People giving me an intervention. Kittens and blow bubbles. James Stone telling me I can't get mad ever again or else, "I'm gonna die."

"What?"

"I'm gonna die," I say again. Coach Grundler looks weirded out by me. "If I get mad one more time, I'm gonna die, but I don't want to. It's not fair." I feel my tears fall down my cheeks. I wipe them away with my fingers ignoring the tissues. "But maybe, I'm meant to, like I'm a sibling reincarnation of my unborn sister, and I'm meant to do something before I'm gone."

Coach Grundler looks at me oddly. She walks to her phone dialing with a rotary dial. "I'm gonna call the Counselor and ask what he said to you."

"No, please don't," I say, getting up on my feet.

"I have to. He's obviously said something to upset you," she says, putting the phone receiver to her ear.

I back out of the cabin. I walk back through the camp. I sit by a tree. I look at the lake.

"Hi," says someone, pulling at my arm. I look up but I stay sitting down on the ground. It's Sour Paige. She's holding her clarinet in her other hand. "All I've been thinking about is that fantasy we we're doing."

"You really like that thing, huh?" I ask, as I point at her instrument. She nods. "Did someone really important give it to you?"

"No," she replies, clutching her clarinet. "I don't have it because someone else bought it for me. I have it because I scrounged through all my pocket money for it. It's not just playing a clarinet. It transports me to a peaceful place. An easier place." Paige pauses as I stare at my converse shoes. "So, when are we gonna do it again?"

"Do what again?" I ask

"The fantasy?" she goes.

I hold my self together and smile. "What about now?" I sigh, getting up on my feet.

I tell Sour Paige to bring the other girls to meet me at our neck of the woods. Paige puts away her clarinet and runs back to camp. My smile fades when she leaves. I walk towards the spot we were at yesterday. Not as far as when Counselor Stone cornered me.

I sniff up some snot. I try to breath in and out.

Keep it together Maddie.

I hear the ruffling of leaves as I hear the girls come. They appear around me as I hide my face towards a tree.

"You been crying, Maddie?" asks Amber, peeking at my face.

"No," I reply, straightening my eyes up and blinking my tears away. "Don't be stupid, Amber. Why are you being so stupid right now? Honestly."

Rocket looks at me and then at the other girls.

Blondie looks concerned for a second. "Whatever. Let's get on with this."

We begin our cheer.

I close my eyes and open them again.

The forest has disappeared. I'm on a pier with the girls. The sky is a merky grey. We go towards the edge of the pier by the sea. There's a sailor waiting for us. It's my guardian angel again. I can't remember what his name used to be. My minds failing me again. The waves beneath us are rough, and behind him is a large sail boat.

"Aye dudettes!" the sailor says welcoming us.

Rocket sighs asking, "What do we have to do _this_ time?"

The sailor laughs. "Let me tell you a story. I sailed once upon a time with the sun in my eyes and paranoia in my mind. There was a hundred of us. What we never anticipated though, was the sea monster."

"Sea monster?" Sour Paige asks.

"Uh-huh, dudette," he replies. "A hundred of us sailed out there. Thirty came back. The squids arms were everywhere. If you see the dead's of it's eyes, you're already dead."

I look out at the sea. "So, there's a big squid out there?" I ask.

"Not just a big squid. A kraken. The ultimate ocean-dwelling monster. It dictates the sea itself. The orc jocks are in pursuit of the rubber duck you are trying to retrieve too."

The sailor lets us on the boat. With us girls on it, he begins to unravel the knot keeping it by the pier. He hands us over the anchor to put on the boat.

"Aren't you coming too?" I ask him.

"No dudette," the sailor replies. "This here's your fight. Oh, and one more thing. Remember. The world isn't a big creature that wants to swallow you whole. You can do what you want and dream about what you want. It's just that sometimes it makes you feel so small that you forget that you are an important part of what its made of."

The sailor begins to walk away. The boat departs from the pier. Were setting sail. Amber guides the boat from it's wheel. Rocket goes up higher on the boat to spread the sails. Nothing but sea around us.

A large horn roars beside us.

"What was that?" asks Sour Paige.

The smog clears and another dark boat emerges. It's pitch black. It gets closer and closer to us until it's touching our boat.

Monsters with grey skin stare back across at us. Twenty or so of them. All of them with big protruding teeth, like large devil horns where their lower teeth should be. They have strong armor and cut up football varsity jackets. It's what the sailor warned us about. Orc jocks. They latch ropes pulling their boat even closer as they jump over making war cries. All in a neat line, almost like they're in formation or something.

Orc jocks board our ship with their axes. They swing at us. Their weapons raised in the air. I pull out my twin katanas. Paige and Blondie jump in and fight them off. Orcs go flying off the boat into the water. An orc jock reaches up to me. We collide our weapons together. He pushes me to the other side of the boat. I get up. He charges at me. I lift him up as he descends into the water too. The boat begins to rock side to side. The release of gun powder from a cannon puffs in the air. The boat's being hit with cannon footballs. Rocket spins down from the rope and kicks a few orcs in the face. She gets picked up off the ground and held up in the air. Blondie gets pushed on to the floor. Paige is nowhere to be seen. A bunch of orcs corner me. I'm out numbered.

There is a loud piercing scream from the sea. It didn't sound human.

Everyone stops still.

The boat is rocked again. But it's not football cannons. I peer down on the side of the boat. The ocean is swirling around a whirlpool like the drain of a bath tub. What's happening? Long tentacles wrap around the orc jocks who were surrounding me. It pulls them across our boat. It moves other orc jocks away from me. The large monster emerges out of the sea. It's bigger than our ship. It has spikes with jagged edges. Arms stretching out taking out everything in sight.

The orcs jocks are retreating. All my girls reappear. Sour Paige is back.

"Hey!" Amber shouts, looking across at the orc jocks running away. "The kraken's on _our_ side."

I smile. I feel my tummy tighten. I gasp out air.

"Maddie!" Rocket shouts, holding her face.

I'm grabbed by the kraken. The cold wet tentacle is around my body. I'm getting dragged across the boat. Crap. I grasp at anyone. At anything.

"I _so_ regret on what I said about hentai!" I shout, holding on to the side of the boat.

Rocket and Sour Paige run up to me. They each hold my arms. They try to pull me back up.

"Guys! Take the key and the bobble head!" I shout back, feeling nothing but hopelessness. Blondie and Amber take my items out of my pockets. "Have a good life. It's been real."

Blondie pulls Sour Paige from behind by her waist. "Shut up!" she shouts back at me. "We're not gonna let you get taken."

"And guys," I sigh, staring back at them. "Whatever happens. Don't let anyone make tentacle fan art of this."

They loose their grips. I'm grabbed higher in the air. I'm upside down. I see the mouth of the kraken and it's millions of teeth. It's eyes are nothing but black. It lets me go. All fall into it's mouth. The girl's cries disappear. I slide through it's tongue's taste buds. I hold on to the boxing bag thing at the back of it's throat.

The pit of its stomach below me is bubbling like lava. There are dead orcs jocks in the pit of it. There's something sparkling down there. It's the rubber duck. I drop down with all the style I can muster, avoiding the Kraken's stomach acid.

I swing around the rib cage until I grab the rubber duck. It's not over. I guess, I gotta get on out of here. I climb back up the stomach. I hang on to the mouth opening like before. How am I gonna get out of here? My hair brushes near the back throat of the kraken. It's too slippery to climb up.

It roars. I keep holding on to the back of it's throat. The lava beneath is splashing all over the place. That wasn't a roar. I think it was a sneeze.

I get ready. I tickle the back of it's throat with my hair again. The Kraken's winding up. The mouth's open. I get sucked out, past the tongue and out through it's mouth.

I land horribly on the ship.

The monster sinks down into the ocean again.

"Maddie!" Sour Paige shouts, running up at me. She stops and backs away. "I'd hug you. If you _weren't_ completely covered with saliva, and you _weren't_ just inside the Kraken's mouth."

"Don't worry about it," I moan, getting up on my feet.

I hold the pixelated rubber duck in my hand. I close my eyes shut. I wait. I open my eyes again. That's strange.

"What's wrong?" asks Amber.

"We're supposed to be back in camp by now," I say.

Blondie throws a bucket of sea water on me. I stand still, shivering. _Ugh!_ A heads up would have been nice. I wipe my face clear.

I stare up and see a long bridge across the sea. There is no start and no exit to it. It's stretches into what looks like forever.

"Let's get on that bridge," I suggest.

We don't let the ship stop by using an anchor. We climb up to the highest point of the ship. One by one we jump on to the mysterious bridge that just seems to be built right in the middle of the ocean. There's cars driving by on it.

A car transforms into a robot in front of us. What the heck? It fires at us.

"Well, this sucks," I sigh.

Rocket gets shot point blank. She falls off the bridge.

"Rocket!" yells Sour Paige, looking over the bridge to spot out where she landed.

Blondie pulls her back from the edge of the bridge. There are cars still driving by. We can't tell which car will turn into a robot or not. Amber runs in front of a car. She throws the driver out of the driver's seat. The four of us go inside it. Amber takes the wheel. Sour Paige in the passenger seat. Blondie and me at the back. Another robot comes towards us.

I move to the outside of the car. There's a better angle on Blondie's side. I take out my pistol.

"Hey! Watch it!" moans Blondie, as I climb across her.

"Sorry," I say.

I dangle my body out of the window and shoot at the robot. It jumps from car to car. It throws cars at us. Amber dodges the on coming collisions. I climb out the car window. I stand on the roof of the car. I deal with the smaller robots as they hop from car to car. A larger robot is ahead of us. There's a girl on it's back, riding it. Someone I know. Someone I actually remember. The last person I saw before I left high school. Kumiko. It's slowly coming back to me.

I'm back at camp. What's going on? Are my memories fading? I'm back in the woods with the girls. We're in the middle of our cheer. It's all hazy. I'm back on top of the car racing down the bridge highway. I'm moving in and out of fantasies. Counselor Stone grabs Blondie by the hand. She shouts back at him. It's all fuzzy. I can't really hear what she's saying.

"You drove me to this," Counselor Stone goes, holding her arm. "I'm initiating plan P."

"What dat mean?" snarls Blondie.

"Your parents," Counselor Stone replies. "I called them. You're going home. All of you."

I'm on the top of the car again. I look back down at the back seat of the car. Blondie's vanished. There's a bright white flash. Amber disappears. Now no ones driving the car.

Sour Paige looks worried at me. She's still locked down with her seat belt. She rolls down the window with a button.

"Amber got taken!" yells Sour Paige at me.

"Yeah! I saw!" I yell back.

"I can't drive!" says Sour Paige.

"Neither can I!" I reply. I lay flat down on the roof of the car. I put my hand through the window, and on the steering wheel. Kumiko's still shooting at us. I dodge the cars in front of us. "You see what I'm doing, Paige? Just keep the wheel straight, okay?"

"Okay!" she replies, moving over to the driver's seat.

I shoot back at Kumiko's robot. Paige swings the car erratically. I jump on to another car. Then another car. Kumiko shoots missiles at me again. I somersault over the robot. I drag my katanas across it still in mid air. The robot explodes. I feel myself getting blown away. I find myself rolling on the top of a lorry. Kumiko falls and lands on her feet. She's way more graceful than I am.

Kumiko tilts her head down at me. "And then there were two," she says with a evil grin.

I get up. I pause and look at Kumiko. I sigh. I fiddle in my skirt pocket and pull out my phone. I stick up my index for her to wait.

Kumiko frowns. "That's the only problem with technology, if there _ever_ was one. It gives you white girls an excuse to act so self entitled," Kumiko sneers.

She gets closer.

"Hold on," I say, checking out the story on my cellphone. "I'm on the last chapter of _a_ 'friend's secret' recess fan fic. Hear this. _Lawson slumped into TJ's arms weakly, feeling comfortable in his lover's embrace. TJ slowly bought Lawson over to the bed,_ and—Wow!" I stop. I scroll through my phone. " _Naked at the same time. Lowered himself. Licking and nipping. TJ drew in a breath as the tightness sheathed his—_ Oh gosh!"

"What is it?" Kumiko asks.

"I can't say," I reply.

"Why not?"

" _Because,"_ I say back. Kumiko looks mad at me. I go on. _"_ Nothing's real, Kumiko. I'm convinced that none of this real. I'm sure that this is all fiction. No. Fan fiction. I've been reading these stories about people I'm sure I've known before. I'm dipping in my past time."

"You're trying to stall me."

I shake my head. "The fan fic we're in right now is rated T. We're not allowed to swear or go into any racy adult situations, like in this m & m I'm reading. Speaking of m and m, if I'm a minor character, you're just a _minor_ minor character. You're only used for exposition. I'm lucky I even get my own chapter."

"Nonsense. We can swear if we want to," says Kumiko.

"Nah. We can't. I tried to swear back at camp. It just came out as tame little curses."

"Fuuu! Shiii! Fuuu! Ugh! Fudge sticks!" Kumiko stutters out. She takes out her pink lightsaber in frustration. The pink laser shines shimmers against her face. "Damn you!"

"I hate how cool that looked just now," I say, as I take out my two katanas from my back.

"A samurai blade can't test a lightsaber," Kumiko says.

"It can _so,_ " I argue.

" _Nu_ - _uh_."

"It can _too_."

"It's scientifically implausible. Light sabers heat up at 15,000 °F. They can cut through anything. Plus. It can _not_ , _plus infinity_."

"It can too infinity, _plus one,_ " I reply.

Kumiko narrows her eyes.

I run towards her. I swing my swords. Kumiko's lightsaber slices straight through them. I'm just holding handles now.

"Doesn't it get kinda annoying being right all the time?" I ask.

"Nope," she replies, with a smile.

I dodge Kumiko's attacks. Her light saber makes _vwongs_. I back flip away. I take out my pistol. I shoot. Kumiko reflects the bullets with her lightsaber. They rebound back at me. I duck away from my own bullets.

"Okay then," I say, putting my gun back in my holster. "Apparently you _shouldn't_ bring guns to a sword fight."

Kumiko drop kicks me off the lorry. I'm hanging on to the edge. Kumiko stands over me. I pull at her feet. She drops on her back. Her lightsaber falls away from her grasp. I drop to one hand grip as I dodge her saber as it falls on to the traffic. The lightsaber slices cars open. Cars explode behind us. I lift myself back up. Kumiko jumps back up herself. We go blow to blow. She kicks at me. I block with my arms. She hits me over and over. I spin Kumiko around and jump on her back. I dip my finger in my mouth and give her a wet willy. She flips me over and locks my arms in a grapple. I pull at her hair but I lose my grip. Her hair is too short. She shrugs me off again. She round houses me on my back.

"You're just a cheerleader," Kumiko laughs down at me. "You're so predictable."

"Predictable?" I go, getting on my feet. "I'll show _you_ predictable."

I nod a beat in my head. I start to clap. I make letters with my hands.

"Give me a _B_ , give me an _I_ , give you a _T-C-H_ right in the face," I start. I put Kumiko in a headlock making a **B** shape, I turn back upside down with a kick under her chin making the letter with an **I** , forming the letters **T** , **C** , and **H** separately with my hands. "Give me an _I_ , give me a _F_ , with an _I-C_ on the cake." I give her an uppercut making an **I** , then a double punch to the chest making an **F** , then **I** and **C** with my hands. "A kick, a twirl, a slap to make you unaware of where you've went." A roundhouse kick, a spinning kick into a twirl, a slap across her face. "Give me an _A_ , give me a _T_ , an _I-O-N_ , clap, message sent!" I put my hand in together in a prayer as I arch it into an **A** as I poke her eye, a punch across her face and an upside down diving kick making a **T** , I then write in the air **I** , **O** and **N**.

Kumiko lands defeated. "What does that spell?" she asks, laying on her back.

"Look who doesn't know English fluently anymore," I tease, standing over her. I peer down at my holster. I take out my pistol and point it at her face. "Silly me. I completely blanked. I forgot that _I'm_ the one with the gun."

"Maddie wait!" yells Kumiko.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You don't wanna kill me."

"I don't?"

"No. I take back what I said. You're more than a cheerleader. In fact, you're a very honorable opponent. I think we've both learned that by becoming friends we can achieve so much more. I think we both know its more important in the long run and we are a lot more fortuitous to have each other than we think. I think one day we're gonna laugh—"

I pull the trigger, blasting her face into sweet pieces as they bounce off of my face.

"Oh sorry," I say, lowering my gun looking at her limp headless body. "I get bored really easily."

The selfie stick appears in the air. I grab it.

I close my eyes.

I open them. I'm back in camp. Sour Paige is next to me.

"Paige! You're still with me, by my side!" I say.

" _Obvi_ " she says in a huff, holding her hips in a sway as she mimics the way cheerleaders speak.

"Let's go," I chuckle back at her.

Blondie's mirror is on the ground. She must've dropped it when Counselor Stone took her away. I pick it up. I grab Sour Paige by her arm. We run out of the woods. Sour Paige connects Blondie's mirror with the selfie stick. She pushes me up against a tree. What's she doing? She looks deep in my eyes. She's holding me close. She isn't about to kiss me too is she? She puts her finger on my lips. She lowers us to the ground. She sticks out the selfie stick. On the reflection of the selfie stick, Counselor Stone is looking for us. We can see him from around the tree. We maneuver away. He doesn't see us. He walks ahead us.

We go towards the lake. I climb up the tree and help Sour Paige up too. We reach near the top. There's branches in front of us we could swing on. I untie my pink head ties. I wrap it around the bobble head. I swing it around my head and connect it on a tree branch. The camp people are under the tree. They start to climb up to stop us.

"They're coming," Sour Paige says, grabbing me close. She kisses me on the cheek. "Good luck."

Here goes nothing. I brace myself. I swing on the branch. We glide across the lake. We fall in awful landing. We're on land. We made it. We're on the other side of camp. There is a sealed chain link fence in front of us. A lock sealing it closed. Cheerleader camp is now on the other side of the lake.

Now to open the lock. I search in my pockets. All of my pockets. My heart starts to beat hard. I ruffle inside my hair. I take off my shoes and search inside my soles. _Oh no!_ My heart is thudding like crazy.

"Where's the key?" Sour Paige panics at me.

I don't have it. Sour Paige looks in her pockets too. What are we gonna do? On the other side of the lake I can see Amber. She's holding something shiny in her hand. Oh yeah. Amber and Blondie took the items off of me when I got taken by the Kraken. Amber's shouting something back at me but I can't hear her. It's too far for her to throw the key. It might fall into the lake. Blondie runs away from the camp counselors. She takes the key off Amber. She attaches it to something small and yellow. She tears some tape with a rip of her teeth. Blondie balances what looks like the rubber duck on the lake. Her parents take her away as she shouts in delight at us both.

Sour Paige beams a smile at the approaching small toy. The rubber duck comes towards us across the lake. It reaches us both. I pick it up. The keys on it and the duck had enough buoyancy to make it all the way to us. There's a little hand held fan taped on to the bottom of it.

I turn back at the chain link fence and open the lock. It clicks. It works. We open the door slowly together. We peer around it. There are small huts. The sounds of instruments being played. Boys just walking around. We move away from the door and sneak behind a hut. There are some spare instruments under a shaded tree.

"I think I know what I need to do," I sigh.

" _Maddie don't,_ " Sour Paige whispers back, having read my mind.

"We made it all the way here. We can't stop now. I'm gonna distract the boys, so then it's a chance for you to take those instruments and enjoy your time here, and not be cramped up in a happy go lucky camp that doesn't let you find your wings. You don't even like cheer leading, do you?"

Sour Paige shakes her head.

I go into the open.

"Hey Maddie."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," says Sour Paige, ready to go. "For everything."

"Hey!" I shout, walking into the open.

Sour Paige takes her opportunity to find the instruments she wants to play with.

"How the—?" goes a boy, stopping still. "How the heck you get here?"

"It's totally freaking you out right now, isn't it?" I ask him, as more boys swarm around me. "A cheerleader in Boy band camp! _Woooo._ "

Another boy looks over at me asking, "Are you okay? Your nose is bleeding _a lot."_

"What?" I say. "No. I can't be. I ain't even mad this time." I wipe my nose. There's blood on my fingers. I sigh. I turn back to you, the reader, whose reading this. "Really?"

I pass out.

* * *

I open my eyes.

There's a boy staring over me. I'm on a bunk bed. This teenager looking over me looks familiar. How Blondie, Rocket, Amber and my guardian angel all look familiar. He has light brown hair. Bright blue eyes. Distinctive freckles on his face look like candy bars. What does he want with me? He gives me a smile with his chubby cheeks. I kinda don't feel so worried anymore.

Is he this TJ I've read so much about?

"Howdy," he says, welcoming me as he moves away from my face. His stethoscope swings around his neck. He's looks like he's rushed to the lost and found to look like my doctor. "There you are. You gave us quite a scare, you know?"

"Where am I?" I ask, lifting my head up on a pillow.

Everything in this hut smells of boy.

"Band camp. For boys. I can't believe you made it over the lake by yourselves," he says, exposing his teeth with a laugh.

"Where's Paige?"

"Oh, she's fine," he says. He moves to the side. The door is open. Sour Paige is playing instruments with boys under the tree I helped her sneak to. "She's real good on the clarinet. Crazy good. They even said they might make Cheerleader camp and Boy Band camp join together and become one now. Especially seeing as they caught Counselor Stone, and the strange thing is, we didn't even suspected he—"

"What are talking about?" I ask.

"Oh yeah. You don't know, do you? The police came and arrested him for spying on the campers. We got justice for something that wouldn't of even happened if you didn't make such a commotion."

"Ugh!" I scoff. "I knew he was a _creeper_ , but, wow. I can't believe he spied on the girls like that—"

"Whoa!" he goes, putting his hand out at me. "When I said _camper_ I don't mean _you campers_. I meant the boys. He spied on the _boys_. Cameras in the bunk beds and other weird places. All the kink shaming material found on the hardware of his computer was of us in Band Camp."

"Oh, well then that's, still bad," I reply.

"This is a crappy way to transition and I don't know how to put this to you _lightly_ without freaking you out, but, we're kinda supposed to kiss. One girl gets chosen to kiss a boy each year from each camp. It's sort of a tradition. We're supposed to be on a boat thingy and meet between the lake separating each other. Its supposda to show unity and all that crap, but it's more like a _kiss and diss rumor mill scenario."_

"Is that why you're wearing that around your neck?" I say, looking at his stethoscope dangle. "We playing doctor or something?"

He's that Boy Wonder Counselor Stone and Rocket were talking about on my first day.

"No. Heck no," he says, taking the stethoscope off. "My friends put it on me. No, all I want is just to meet the real you. You know? That intangible awesome spark that makes you _you_. Something more than just a kiss."

"You seem really nice. You want me to lie to you?"

"No. You're cute. Really cute. It's I—I—okay, look. You could look back at this in our fifties and be like, that one time in band camp, that totally awesome boy I hooked up with was a time to savor and I can be like, Maddie was that super hero girl that swung across the lake to meet me. A time to remember."

"Funny. But, I'm not—"

"We look back when this time right was the world to us. When we were young and free and we had all the time to just just fall in love, fall out of it and fall under it again. Experience a moment in time no one can take away from us."

"Are you for real?" I laugh.

Boy Wonder gets closer to me. "This is it, right? Taking nothing for granted. Feeling every moment. Otherwise, like a simple _poof,_ everything goes and you're left there with just you. That's the real retribution. Recognizing whats here now before it fades away. Reward and punishment. I know most guys will say just about anything just to add to their make-out tally. But that isn't me. So, I'm here as a boy asking a girl—"

"Right you are."

"To share a moment with me. Not a romantic romp but a photogenic pucker. To not forget it. To really pay attention to everything and just wake up."

I sigh. He seems safe enough. I guess _he did_ ask really nicely and _he did_ look after me after I passed out. I could put _being only into girls_ to the side. He leans towards me. We kiss with our lips meeting together.

Boy Wonder holds my head up and stops kissing me. "You hear me?" he asks. "Wake up. Wake up."

* * *

 **" _Wake up, wake up, wake up,_ " **whispers Paige to me, holding my hand on the side of my hospital bed.

"What? I'm up," I yawn. **  
**

"Maddie! Hey! She's awake!" Paige goes.

"Honey!" says a someone else at me.

I'm on a bed in what looks like an institution. Not quite a hospital. There's 'Get well soon' cards on the desk draw beside me. It like it's from all of my friends. There's food left uneaten left there for me. Some homework assignment left there too.

"What's all this?" I ask. "Whoa. How long was I out?"

"Five days," Paige replies. She looks like her old self. Mad scruffy hair and glasses. "All your friends were here. Spinelli, Gretchen and Molly came. Dr Grundler a few times. Guru kid was here, oh my gosh, he's changed hasn't he? I don't know the name of your other friends. One was dressed in funny bright clothes that sort of looked rough at the same time. Then a group of them who visited you were wearing just black. Then the jock boys were here, oh yeah, I know Vince LaSalle and that one boy Troy was funny. Then these girls and boys who spoke some Japanese with each other came to see you. I learned a few things from them. I speak some Japanese now, but I'm not fluent. And guess what, Maddie?"

"What?" I ask back.

"I'm cured. I don't have multiple personalities anymore," she replies.

A woman with a pregnant belly bump looks over at me. "Paige has been by your side the whole time," she says.

"I had all my therapy sessions right here," Paige continues, "I felt so guilty for putting you in here."

"Don't say that," I reply. "That's not true. I think I heard you the entire time. I mean, it was a bit different, but I think _something_ went in."

An old dude comes towards me. He has a stethoscope down on the table. He must be my doctor. "You've made a remarkable recovery considering the emergency surgery," he says.

"Surgery?" I ask.

"Yes," Doc replies. "We commenced brain surgery and it was successful as you must be feeling notably a bit drowsy. I'm happy to say though, that now you can be as angry as you wish with no worry."

The pregnant lady interrupts again. "Can I take her back home?" she asks the doctor.

"Usually I'd give my patients more time for their rehabilitation, but for Maddie, I see no reason why she can't," he replies.

"Who are you?" I ask him.

"I'm Dr B. Winder," he replies, "I performed your surgery."

Dr B. Winder? Boy Wonder. _Ugh!_ No.

"We didn't kiss, did we?" I ask him.

"No," he replies, shuffling his eyes confused looking at the others around the room.

"Oh thank god," I sigh. I look at the woman in front of me. "Who are you?"

"What?" she replies.

I repeat myself.

"Stop it, Maddie," she goes on. "I'm your mom."

"I—I—I've never seen you before in my life," I say, trying to rack my brain.

Paige gets up into my face. "I don't think she's joking. You know _me_ don't you?" Paige asks.

"Yeah. Paige," I reply.

"Hmm, interesting," the doctor goes. He lifts my head up. He whips out a tiny torch and checks each of my eyes. "There seems to be some side effects."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the woman replies. "What's happened to my Maddie?"

"She's still your daughter, Miss Feldman. It might have to take something to trigger her memory back. A phrase. A picture. A person. I suggest she takes it slow readjusting back to society. You don't want her looking blankly and not knowing people she might have known for years," the doctor explains.

I get discharged.

* * *

I'm driven home. It's weird to call this lady, mom, so she says it's okay to call her by her first name instead. Scarlet.

She drops me outside of a moderate sized house. I must live here then. I go to the front door.

Scarlet stops me from turning it. "Take the first couple days easy, okay honey?"

I nod. I open the door.

"Baby doll!" this guy yells at me. "Hows my American teen bombshell doing? You cause a ruckus like we said you would? Your mom is telling me you've turned worst than vegan, you've turned into an _actual_ full vegetable." He knocks my head with his knuckles. "But that's better left seeing to believing."

I turn towards Scarlet. "Whose this jerk-off, and why is he talking to me?" I ask her.

"Maddie," the guy sighs. "You haven't changed. You got me worried." He turns to Scarlet. "You _both_ had me going there."

Is he my brother? He must be. He's wearing a jock varsity jacket with X high school on it. It's bright red with a lobster emblem on it.

"He's your dad," Scarlet explains, closing the front door.

I looks at this guy again. He looks so young though. I'm so confused.

"I know I lost my memory, but I know for a fact he's not my dad," I say, shaking my head.

"Okay," says Scarlet. "Meet your stepdad, Dustin."

I lift my hand out to Dustin. "Oh. Sorry for calling you a jerk-off. I'm Maddie. Nice to meet you," I say, shaking his hand. "I'm going out."

I need to get out of here. I swing a coat on.

"Where?" asks Scarlet.

"To see Paige. She stayed with me all that time," I say. "She's my girlfriend. _I think._ A part of her is. _I think._ "

Scarlet takes the coat off my shoulder. "First things first. That's _my_ coat," she explains. "I should be looking after you, but if you want to go, I'll get your coat for you."

Scarlet goes upstairs. Dustin is looking at me funny. I smile back at him. This makes him look even more lost for words.

"Thanks, mom," I say, taking my coat this time, walking to the door.

"Maddie. Thanks for calling me mom," she replies.

There's a portrait by the door left on the cabinet table. It's a photo of me and my real dad. It's coming back to me. I remember him. I stroke my finger at the picture of him. I turn back at my mom and smile back.

"Bye Dustin," I say, going to the door.

"You still won't call me your—!" he says out load in a huff, as I shut the front door behind me.

I take out my cellphone. I flick my contacts. I have so many contacts. Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, Dustin, Gus and its just going on and on. I stop on Sour Paige's number. Spinelli is the name underneath it.

I call Paige.

"Hey, it's me," I say.

"Maddie, are you all right?" Paige asks back.

"Yeah. I wanna see you, so call me back, yeah?"

"No need. I'll text you my address. We can meet there."

We say bye to each other.

I walk through the town. There's a Quick-O mart. I walk towards the door ready to push it, but the door opens up automatically. I walk inside.

"Hey! You're back!" says the female clerk to me. "Mikey doesn't eat half as much without you were here setting the pace for him. Spinelli's been pretty lost, without you here being her wing girl. It seems like so much is going down at your school. You know what I mean, right?"

I don't know who she is for the life me. She obviously knows who _I am_. She's my age, maybe a year older. Brown hair and light freckles around her nose and face.

I nod back.

"Right, you know?" she carries on. "I was gonna visit ya, but you can _never_ trust those mental places. But now you're probably thinking I'm some chump who doesn't check up on their friends. _I hear that_. So, you want the usual? A box of Winger Dingers, pork chips and a can of whip cream to spray directly into your mouth?"

I shrug. The clerk girl rubs my shoulder and gets lots of snacks on the counter, still jabbering away at me. I move to the cooler of drinks. I gloss away from the cans of soda and move to the strong drinks. The alcohol. I don't recognize the clerk girl. I don't recognize anyone. If I organize a party and invite everyone it will jog back my memory. It's worth a shot. This cashier girl knows me, so maybe she'll let me buy these. I grab random bottles of beer and vodka.

"What the heck, Maddie?" asks the clerk girl. I hear the shop sliding doors open. "You know I can't ring those up for you. I can't even sell alcohol myself, I'd have to ask the owner in the back to do it for me. I cherish your bad streak right now, but do you know how _hard_ it is to swing this job without being a direct descendant of his? _Really_ hard."

Dustin stands there. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," I say, backing away from the counter.

"No, you stop right there," says Dustin in a serious tone. " _I'm_ _sorry_. I've been a bad stepdad. It's probably why you've blocked out all memory of me."

"You can't be _that_ bad," I reply.

"I've covered the toilet boil with cellophane before you used it. I've written baby across your forehead in permanent ink when you were sleeping. I let some of my blood brothers give you a mud monster—" he says.

"Huh?" I ask.

The clerk girl raises her eyebrows. "It's when after you've just had a shower someone hands you a towel you think is clean and its totally covered in mud," she explains.

"You actually weren't that mad at me that time because you used it as a mud mask to catch some sun with," Dustin adds. "But that's the old me. I know I can't replace your real dad, so I wanna make it up to you. Starting now."

"That's so sweet," I say. "I'm sorry for all these drinks. I don't know what's getting into me."

 _'I'm sorry. I don't know what's getting into her'_ is ringing in my head. Dustin said that when he was holding me back after he dropped me off at the mental institute. I remember now. He's that boy toy mom keeps around. Dustin.

I've remembered Dustin before my own mom. That's tragic.

Dustin smiles. "That's okay. I'll buy them for you. I'll do anything you want."

"You dick!" I yell, hugging Dustin tight. "You're buying drinks for an underage minor. Oh, I've missed you."

Dustin looks at me confused as I let go of the hug.

"I remember you," I explain.

"No way!" he says, with a wide grin. "Everything's back or—?"

"No. It's sorta fuzzy still. You're the first person I remember now, besides Paige. Oh crap! Paige! I'm meant to be meeting her at _her_ house."

"I'll drive you," says Dustin. "What's all the bottles for anyway? You going on a bender?"

"I'm having a party, _duh,_ " I say.

"Can I come to it later?" asks the clerk girl. She puts her head to the side and calls her boss from the other room. An older Indian man comes out. Dustin buys the drinks and snacks for me.

"Sure," I say to her. "What's your name?" I ask. She looks bewildered like I should know her. "You know, in case I'm gonna do a V.I.P list?"

Good save.

"It's Sue Bob Murphy. That's a Sue with an _E_ and Murphy with a _PH,_ no F," she replies.

* * *

I'm in Dustin car. He drives me outside of Paige's place. I step out. Dustin says he'll stay and wait for me.

Paige has a large house. It's gigantic. On the lawn there's a picket sign saying that's it's being sold. The For Sale sign says _Bouviere Estate Agency_. I knock on the door. There's no answer. There's no doorbell. I push the door. It's open. I make my way inside. The staircase is way fancy. There must be three floors in this house. I stroll into the wide open space of the living room. Swanky. Inside, there are a lot books with it's own library. More books than Gretchen's house, much more. Gretchen? I know her. I take out my phone and look for Gretchen Grundler. I remember her.

Paige is talking to someone. The lady she's talking to looks professional with a suit piece, holding a filter coffee.

"We're not gonna live here anymore?" asks Paige to this older lady.

"Hasn't anything gone in there?" the woman replies. Look, Paige, honey. People move on. Life moves on. This house is primal real estate. Let mommy take care of it, okay? Just lock yourself in your room. I've left it just the way it was. You'll cry away and forget all about this."

"Whoa lady! Back off!" I say, to who must be Paige's mom.

"Excuse me? Who are you?" her mom barks back.

"Me? I'm an all-out _GWA._ A girl with an attitude. Better yet," I say, getting closer up in her space. "I'm your daughter. Only in this scenario, I break the rules, I bring boys over, I come home late and I have a friggin' fun time, okay? I don't know what legit happened here, but I know you're as much the reason Paige is like this than what happened to her at school."

The mom stares at me with a dark scorn. Her phone goes off and she answers it. "Hello?" she asks, putting her finger out at us to wait, "Mhmm. You've got the property papers? That's wonderful. I'm on my way." She puts her cellphone back in her pocket. She turns to Paige. "See you, hon. If this deal goes through I'll be the top seller of my firm. Take this." She hands Paige some money. "If I knew you'd be coming I would have more on me. Take care of the house before the new owners come to takeover."

And like that, Paige's mom is out the door and gone.

"Thanks," says Paige to me.

"It was more for my benefit really," I reply. "Your mom has some serious dragon breath. I just _had_ to slay it." Paige chuckles and stares back at me holding my hand. "This isn't my story. It's not about me. I think I was always meant to help you. It just took me a _long_ time to realize it. Sometimes guardian angels aren't always fairies or an old wise African American like they are in the movies. They could be a teenage girl too."

I go up to Paige's room. The room is blank. All her things are in boxes. I take out her laptop from one of them. _Flashback._ I'm in my own cramped up bedroom at home, doing the same thing. I remember. The same thing happened to me, but instead of being replaced by a baby sister, Paige is moving out of her whole house.

I put Paige's laptop on to her lap as I sit on the edge of her bed next to her.

"Okay," I say, stretching my fingers out. I log on to Friendsite. "Firstly, you're gonna add me as a friend."

"Done," says Paige, logging into her profile.

She searches Maddie Feldman and clicks add. I feel a rumble in my pocket. I go on my cell and accept her friend request. I search through my friends. I have 741. Now I have 742.

"Good," I say, getting off the bed as I pace back and forth. "Secondly, you're gonna create an event."

"What?" cries out Paige. "A party? Maddie, I don't know."

"Sour P, I don't like the way your mom talks to you, so what else is a better way to stick it to her? Plus, I'm desperate to get my friends back in my memory, pronto."

"So, do I add your mutuals as the guests or—?"

I look down at Paige's screen. She has only 19 friends to choose from, including me.

"Add me, I'll do the rest. Cool? Let's go."

"Thirdly?" Paige asks me. "What's the third thing? Books and speech patterns usually come in trilogies."

"I didn't think of one," I say, shrugging.

* * *

Paige and I go back and forth to the Quick-O mart. We have fun as we put up party stuff around the house. It's too big to disguise all the books with decorations so we leave it as it is. We put snacks on the table. Dustin brings in the drinks from his car and fills up the fridge.

The afternoon sun turns to night. People start to show up. The bell doesn't work so we have to keep the door slightly open. Boys and girls around about our teenager high school age turn up. The house is filling up with people. I recognize someone. A girl from my Friendsite and my phone when I was flicking contacts. She's shorter than me with black hair with an orange woolly hat on her head. Along with her is a large guy. He might be way older than us but his face is young. There's a short guy along with him with glasses and a girl with brunette hair.

I check my phone again for my contacts pictures. It's Spinelli.

"Hey guys," I say to them.

"How are you feeling?" Spinelli asks.

All her friends give me individual hugs. Spinelli gives me a little nudge punch on the arm.

"Oh, you know, better," I reply. The one girl I randomly remembered isn't here. "When's Gretchen coming?"

Paige nudges me with her elbow. "Hey, you remember Gretchen?" she asks me all surprised.

Spinelli shakes her head. "This ain't Gretchen's scene, Mad."

Some older guys come through the door with a beer keg.

"Erm, Maddie?" asks Paige, pulling me to the side as my friends make their way inside. "Did you just add your friends to my party or did you post my event as open to the public."

"Don't be silly, Paige," I reply. I check my phone on the event. It says hundreds of people are coming. The party is public. Paige was right. "Oops."

"Maddie," Paige goes, looking off to the side.

"Sorry," I reply.

"No," Paige says, still looking away from my eyes and at someone else. She's looking towards three girls dressed in pretty expensive looking blouses. One's in pink, one's in yellow and the other is wearing green.

"Is that them?" I ask Paige. Those are the girls that went to her middle school. I walk towards them. Paige doesn't move. I hold her hand and take her with me. "Come on."

"Hey Maddie," greets one of the girls at me whose wearing green.

The girls all hug me. Paige looks insecure standing beside me being, all ignored.

"Troy invited Vince and I, but I should of known it was _your_ party," laughs the girl wearing yellow. "This is like, _so_ you."

"I know, right?" I reply. I pretend to laugh and turn my head at Paige. " _Who are they?_ " I whisper at Paige.

" _They're all named Ashley,_ " Paige whispers back.

"Oh, that's convenient," I reply, tilting my head back. I turn to them. "Ashleys. Do you have any idea what you did to my friend Paige?

The blonde Ashley moves her hair. "Who?" she asks, finally noticing Paige. "No, why?"

"You spread rumors in middle school and really hurt her," I explain.

The Ashley wearing yellow laughs again. "What are you talking about? You do that like, _all the time_ at school."

"Yeah, well, I've changed my ways," I reply, in Paige's defense. "Yeah, that's right. Erm, you shouldn't kill a good girl's confidence just cause she's a nerd whose life goal isn't to get a boyfriend by senior year, and erm—"

"It's all right, I got this," Paige says to me. She looks at the girls. "Ashley A, Ashley B and Ashley T," she says to them in turns. "I've wanted to say how much I've hated what you did to me. I wanted you all to feel the pain I did when everyone made fun at how I'm different, but, now I don't care anymore. I like being different. Because when I get older I don't have to rely on my looks or my parents wealth to get me where I want to be. Not be entirely cynical. But. I feel sorry for you all. Caring about what boys think of you. Poking fun at other people's insecurities to make yourselves feel good. There was gonna be a third thing but." She turns at me and smiles. "Like _you_ three, sometimes the best things don't come in trilogies."

Ashley B looks shocked at her. She turns at me. "Whose side are you on, Maddie? Us? Or Sour Paige's?"

"Don't call her Sour Paige," I say back at her.

"They can call me that," Paige says really softly with a sweet smile beside me.

"Uh, okay," I reply to her. I stare down at the Ashleys. "Then only _I_ can call her that. So, if you don't mind, Sour Paige and I have a party to get back to and some friends to mingle with. _Buh-bye now_."

Ashley T shakes her head, walking away from us saying, "how could you, Mads?"

Ashley B storms off saying, "hope you two have a nice time together."

"Maddie," Ashley A says in a huff. "I've got just _three_ words to say to you. I'm, like, _so sure_."

All the Ashleys have left us now. It's just me and Paige with the rest of the people in the party around us.

Will I regret that?

"Paige? Those were my cheerleader team mates I just told off, wasn't it?" I ask.

"Yep," Paige replies.

"Great," I sigh.

I go up the staircase alone. There are so many people here now.

I go inside the bathroom. I shut myself off from everyone until the music is just a hum under the door. I look back at myself in the mirror. I scream. I scream out all my frustration of feeling lost, incomplete and being unaware of people I should know. What kind of person was I before all this? I breath off the pace as I hyperventilate a bit. I take out rolls of toilet paper and dab my eyes so I don't destroy my make-up. Maybe I've rolled out too much TP. I throw all of it in the toilet bowl.

There's some pink ties in my pocket. I think the real Maddie would wear these. I put them on.

I look back at the mirror.

I'll get my memory back. I'll get it all back. Be twice the Maddie I was before. One day, one class, one cheer at a time.

I'll just do what any other bathroom model on Selfiepod would.

I'm gonna fake it till I make it.

**[PLAY SONG "Sleigh bells-Infinity Guitars" AT THIS POINT]**


	11. It's always sunny in Arkadelphia

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated T for Teen)

Season 1 Episode 10

Vince POV

* * *

[11:30 pm]

[On a Friday]

[Arkadelphia, AR]

 **The party is getting out of hand** and for the cops to turn up now would be inevitable. It's a million miles away from balloons, stringers, jelly and ice cream. It's a party that hasn't got a reason for it being a party. No ones birthday. No ones celebrating an A+ on a test. Nope. People are just jumping off the staircase, drinking underage illegally, couples making out in the cupboard for 'seven minute of heaven', and I can feel the bass of the music vibrate into my chest all the way down to my hi-top sneakers.

"Take me home, Vince," says Ashley into my ear, tugging at my jacket.

I give her an I-told-you-so look. I lied to my mom saying that there was gonna be a chaperon tonight. I didn't want to go to this popular party anyway. I honestly don't know whose house this is. Once someone puts a party publicly on Friendsite, you end up inviting the whole teen population.

"I gotta find Troy, then I'll come back for you!" I shout to Ashley, leaving her to look further inside the house.

"Forget him!" she shouts back.

"I can't leave him!"

"Like, why not?"

"I dunno, because—!" My voice trails off.

Ashley is growing less patient. I give her my jacket and tell her to wait for me outside. I slide past some people and head up stairs. There's empty cups everywhere, and the occasional passed out person. I go to the next floor of the house. I check the rooms. Locked. The carpet is kinda wet over here, under what must be the bathroom door, is water coming out. I try to open it but it's locked. I head to the third set of stairs, nothing, just kids I don't know kissing and junk. I go back on the first floor.

A red head girl sways towards me. I know her. I haven't seen her since middle school. She holds me. I push her off. She's kisses me on the mouth. Kinda. It's more like slobbering. We trade lips. My hands are away and not even touching her. She's satisfied with the kiss and walks away. She's sits back down on the carpet and passes out. Well, I guess a first kiss is overrated anyway.

And it was with Ashley Q.

"Was it good for you?"

Who said that? I turn around. It was Maddie. She comes outta the bathroom and she's mimicking kisses at me. Water rushing under her feet and soaking on to the carpet. She begins to walk passed me, to the stairs.

"Shut up, Mad," I reply to her. She stops on the top of the stairs and looks at me with screwed eyes, tilting her head. She shifts her gaze to the side looking slightly dazed. "How's your head doing?"

"Broken, but, you know, I'm just living off borrowed time, so I'm living it up," she replies.

"You haven't seen Troy, have you?" I ask her.

Maddie bites her lip and looks to the side. "I know him, so I should definately know where he is," she answers back oddly.

"It's okay if you don't."

"Thank gawd!" Maddie sighs. She gives me her usual coy smile at the girl that's passed out. "Why don'tcha ask your unconscious girlfriend over there for directions?"

"No," I say. "I don't think Ashley B would like it."

"You already have a girlfriend?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"I knew that," says Maddie. "She's Ashley B cause she's constantly getting those straight B's, yeah?"

"No Maddie," I say. "Sorry. You must be recovering from your coma still."

"Thanks, um," she starts, turning back around and darting her eyes. "Late. Best friend." She makes her way down the staircase with the other party people.

"Late," I reply.

That was funny. Maddie's still fun and silly as always but somethings off with her. I can't put my finger on it. It's like she didn't know me or something. I stare back down at the party. There are so many people here, but this house is so big at the same time.

Troy. Where the hell is he?

I make my way downstairs. Mikey and Gus are sipping from cups, standing by a wall.

"You two all right?" I ask them.

"There doesn't really seem like there's a limit to the anarchy, does it?" asks Mikey.

"Yeah," Gus says, joining in, sorta answering his question for me. "You ever used to this overload of fun, Vince?"

"Nah," I sigh. "I'm not really used to anything remotely like this. You lot haven't seen Troy around?"

"Nope, sorry," Gus replies.

"Perhaps Molly will know," mentions Mikey. "I saw her musing with him about something."

I go over to Molly in the open dining room. She's next to a table full of snacks.

"Molly, have you—?" I ask her.

"Huh?" she goes, with her mouth full of sweets poking out. She picks out her drink and sips it swallowing down her sweets. "Vince, have I what?"

"Never mind."

I notice Spinelli. She watches as a couple comes out of the 'seven minutes of heaven.' Her eyes trail from that to mines.

"Hey Spinelli," I say to her. She nods back. "You ain't seen where Troy is, have you?"

"Hmm, he might be under my hat," says Spinelli, reaching for her orange ski cap. "Lemme have a look."

I stop her hand before she gets to it. "Can you give me a break? I said I'm sorry I'm not hanging around with you guys like we used to. You know I've got training, team mates and I'm juggling all this attention I'm getting at school. I never said I would ever ditch the old gang. I'm gonna be here for you guys from now on, okay?"

Spinelli stares back.

"Okay?" I repeat.

"Okay," sighs Spinelli, bobbing her head around. "Maybe I've been a bit rash. Hey, if you wanna help then I've got a Clipgoss story I wanna show you." She reaches for her phone.

"Mhmm. Oh, now?" I ask, walking away from her. "Cause I've got Ashley B waiting for me outside, and I've gotta find Troy before I go, so."

I walk backwards with Spinelli giving me a disgruntled look.

I reach outside to the back garden. There's a big crowd forming outside. As I get nearer I can hear, "Chug," "Chug," "Chug." There he is. Troy is upside down chugging a beer keg with party people holding him up.

Troy gets back on his feet.

"We're leaving, man," I say. "Ashley's waiting outside. Lets go."

"What? The party just started Vin—" says Troy stopping mid sentence. He bends over and pukes.

"Aww, dude," I say.

I pick him up over my shoulder and turn back to the house. I take Troy out of the party like an injured soldier, through the kitchen and out the crowded house. I walk passed Mikey, Gus, Spinelli and Molly. They're all together now. Spinelli gives me a salute and raises her eyebrows looking unimpressed at the passed out Troy.

I'm out of the house. Ashley is sitting on the porch with my jacket on. I walk pass her and lay Troy on the grass. Ashley comes over to me and wraps her arms around mines into a lock.

Ashley nudges her head towards the 'For sale' sign. "Look, that's my dad's business," she says.

"Oh. Cool," I reply back at her. I look down at Troy. My hi-top shoes have got gross gunk on it. "These were new sneakers, T!" I shout at him, trying to wipe his puke off my shoe and on the house's lawn.

"Don't be such a crybaby," says Troy, with his eyes still closed.

Ashley shakes me softly to calm me down. "Don't worry, babe," says Ashley to me, kissing me on the cheek. "You did good to get us two out of there. Thanks for the invite, Troy. Not."

Troy gets up from the grass. He walks ahead of us, planting his feet away from each other, sighing in relief. He's peeing on the lawn.

"Oh my gosh!" shrieks Ashley shielding her eyes. "That's so freaking gross."

"Whatever," says Troy, still pissing away. "I wanna make a fraternity house as epic as that one day."

"Would you mind not traumatizing my girlfriend?" I ask Troy, whose being so absent minded right now.

"It's a natural bodily function," Troy defends, slurring his words. "It's just that I piss like an angry camel." He turns his head around and winks at us.

I did not need to have eye contact with him just now. Ashley looks away in disgust. I let out a laugh. Troy's probably referring back to Chucko's camel jockey insult from last year, the one that really pissed him off. Pissed him off. Ugh! That's all I can think about as we wait for Troy to finish.

It's been like a minute and he's still going.

"And for the record, yeah, you changed your name from Thomas to a kinda, Greek one," I say to him, trying to get my mind to think of something else. "So maybe when we're in college we'll be in a frat."

"We don't have to wait, we can make one at school," says Troy shaking himself off, having peed forever, even for someone whose drunk. "I just need to improve my alcohol tolerance. Build up some booze cells in my immune system."

"What are you saying?" I ask. "We have two days until we face Chucko's team so we have to—"

"What's the point," moans Troy. "They're top of the high school championship table. They're undefeated. They've critically injured a third of the league already. And I'm 99.9% sure they've had steroid shots in their vaccines when they were in elementary school."

"Shut up, Troy," says Ashley. "No they didn't. Vince and I went to the same school as them. I'm sure you guys can like, think of something."

"Exactly," I say. "I'm still the golden child, remember? So they're undefeated. So what. It just means we have to try harder."

Troy stops still sobering up slightly. "You got a point," he says. "We should try to sabotage their team."

"What?" laughs Ashley.

"Don't be stupid, man," I say to Troy. "I'm back to my best now. We're never gonna resort to sabotaging Chucko's team or any other opponent just to stand a chance. What are we? Desperate?"

* * *

 **The gang decides to sabotage Chucko's team.** We're all repping St Patrick's day by all wearing something green. Troy has a green sleeveless hoody, Herk has his green checkered shirt, Wylie with his green army fatigue jacket and I'm wearing my old green Boston Pagan basketball vest over my t-shirt. Shillelagh sundaes are off the menu. No way I'm having those. I don't think my stomach can take it. The afternoon sun shines down through the window of Floppy Burger. Wylie hasn't been one hundred with us though, since we came.

"You're not having any?" Herk asks Wylie, taking his second drink from the molded paper drink carrier.

"I'm fine," Wylie replies, rejecting the green St Patrick milkshakes. "I've already had some milk steak this morning so—"

"Oh," Herk replies, removing his drink's cap to sip some of it. He stops. "I'm sorry what?"

"Milk-steak," repeats Wylie.

Troy's eyebrows raise up. "What the heck is milk-steak?" asks Troy.

Wylie laughs at him and stops. "Come on! You know," says Wylie.

We all give Wylie blank stares.

"Boiled steak in milk, you guys," Wylie explains, "with jellybeans."

"Oh," says Troy, "I thought it wasn't gonna be something stupid."

"Well excuse me for not being posh enough to have some expensive sugar based brand named cereal, which is basically the same thing anyway," says Wylie.

I stop sipping my drink. "How is that the same thing?" I ask.

We don't say anything.

Troy stretches his ear with his fingers, looking around at us. "You hear that, Wylie?" asks Troy. "We're just gonna let that sink in, so you know how stupid you sound right now."

"You guys always gang up on me," moans Wylie. "You guys got no idea how that feels."

Herk, Troy and I slowly look at each other. Me being black, Troy being Persian, Herk being Irish and Wylie being white, it's kind of ironic how Wylie feels like he is the one that's being discriminated against.

Maddie enters Floppy burger. She takes a green milkshake out of the case. "Wassup boner-ds?" she asks us.

Troy sighs and says, "Hopefully Chucko in flames, but we'll get to that in a second."

"Maddie," I say to her. "We're figuring out a way to sabotage our rival team."

"Ah, okay," says Maddie. "Can I join in?"

"No," Troy replies. "We don't need girls slowing us down."

"Hey!" she replies. "That's not fair!"

Troy turns to Wylie as Maddie gets more comfortable as she sits next to Troy anyway. "Wylie, what's your answer?" asks Troy.

"I'm love with the waitress, you guys," Wylie answers.

Herk glares at Wylie. "She has a name," says Herk. "And she's my cousin. I'm a Quinlan."

Herk pulls down his bottom lip. On Herk's lip is the letter Q tattooed on there. The Black capital letter. It looks real. It looks bad ass. It must be an Irish thing. We all look in awe at his very real and very permanent tattoo.

Maddie looks away slowly from Herk and back to the rest of us. "What are you guys talking about?" asks Maddie.

"We're playing MBA," I reply. "You know the game, marry, bonk, assassinate?"

Troy keeps probing at Wylie. "You went to school with the Ashleys when they were a foursome, so why do you just call her 'waitress'?" asks Troy.

"Well," Wylie goes, winding up his explanation. "She doesn't go to our school with Ashley B, A or T, and I hear they're not friends anymore, so I figure she's not really an Ashley anymore either. Besides, I think we have more in common now. Her family aren't rich anymore and she has to work in her family's restaurant as a, you know what."

I turn at Wylie as well. "Get over her, man," I say. "I know I have. I kind of kissed her in Maddie's party last night. It was terrible."

Troy nods. "Yeah, I've lipsed that too," says Troy. He smiles and widens his eyes. "Wait! You did what?" He sips his drink slowly at me and then shrugs. He turns back at Wylie. "You ain't missing much. She's nothing special."

Maddie looks at us four shaking her head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing right now. But my ears are burning," says Maddie.

Wylie stares into space and then snaps himself out. "I'd marry Ashley Q, Bonk Ashley Q and kill Ashley A," says Wylie all sporadically, before picking up and downing a milkshake.

"That's not in the rules!" Troy goes.

"You think I care, man!" Wylie shouts back.

"All right! All right!" I say. "It's my turn. I can't bonk Ashley B because we both have abstinence rings. So, I'd marry Ashley B, bonk Ashley A and kill Ashley T."

Troy smirks, saying, "Aren't you already tied down to Ashley B? What are you gonna do? Marry her again?"

"Hey!" Maddie says, as she calls for our attention. "It's my turn. I'm into girls, right? Now, I saw them three last night if I can remember. The one with the wavy permed hair, I'd marry. She seems nice." She turns to me. "I guess I'd wanna do the nasty with your girlfriend, and, I'd kill Ashley A."

"What?" I go. Everyone laughs at me. "No. I mean, you wanna kill Ashley A too. That means all of you wanna kill Ashley A. What's that about?"

Nobody says anything.

My phone starts to vibrate. Damn. I pick it out of my pocket to turn it off.

"Who was that?" Maddie asks.

I put my phone on the table by the window, partly covering it with my arm. "Hm? I'm sorry what?" I ask as calmly as possible.

My phone rumbles again.

"Gimme your phone," Maddie orders, putting her hand out.

"No," I laugh, squirming away from her and closer to the window.

"Herk!" Troy calls.

Herk holds me down with his arms. He pins me down away from my phone. Maddie swiftly picks it up.

Troy looks over Maddie's shoulders at it. "What is it, then?" asks Troy.

"It's just a picture of his girlfriend trying on a dress," Maddie starts, "with text across it asking what he thinks of it, with some hearts and kisses. Nothing major."

Wylie peers over at my phone too. "You hide your ten second Clipgoss stories with us," says Wylie. "Fair enough."

Maddie looks up from my phone, saying, "Yes but what it isn't fair is you not responding to her."

I shrug. "I ignore her phone and texts sometimes," I say.

Troy tells me, "Sounds like you might wanna slide out of that relationship, dude."

Everyone looks at me. The phone vibrates again but in Maddie's hand this time.

Maddie stares overly-concerned at me. "It would be nice if you told her how you feel," says Maddie.

"Yeah," Troy says, agreeing with her. "Instead of stringing her along like that."

"Pretty messed up, man," say Wylie.

"Callous," Herk adds.

I look around at everyone. "Okay, okay, next time I see her I'm breaking up with her, all right? Satisfied?" I say.

"That wasn't so hard was it?" Maddie goes, handing me my phone back. "So this sabotage thing with the rival school. Hows it going down?"

Frank comes over to us with a beaming smile. "You lot getting into some mischief?" he asks.

Frank is shorter than all us, being only 4 foot 10. His dark black hair bald side part. He's four times our age and he's always in a good mood whenever the jocks take over his restaurant he manages.

"Hey Dad," Maddie greets, smiling back at him.

"Huh?" I say, pointing at Frank and Maddie. "You're Frank as in Frank Feldman?" I turn to Maddie. "You're Frank's daughter? But I thought your dad was dead?"

"What?" Maddie goes.

Troy turns his head at me. "Vince, didn't you see that picture of them two?" Troy asks.

"Must've missed it," I reply. I stare back at Maddie. "You were talking about him like he was, since Dustin was all up in your house—"

"Dustin?" Frank asks.

Maddie looks back at Frank, her dad, apparently. "Yeah. Mom's sort of marrying this new guy, but my baby sister she's having is from one of her specially chosen guy donators."

"Oh, good for her," Frank moans. "Your mother is a health nut. She's only into herb gobbledygook medicine. You were a home birth because she doesn't trust hospitals, so there's no way she went to any clinic."

"Hmm," Maddie hums. "She did want me out of that institute as soon as I woke up."

"She would have to be inviting men over to my house, that I'm still paying for by the way, for her one or two private donations," he says really bitterly, air quoting with his fingers.

"Um, Dad," says Maddie, making a dramatic pause. "It's more like a hundred. Two hundred, men."

Wylie, Herk and Troy all make faces trying to avoid Frank's eye contact.

I turn my head away and look out the window. "Whoa," I breathe out.

"I can't believe this!" Frank bellows out. "I just, can't, believe, this. That shake weight hoe!"

The other people eating in Floppy Burger take notice. Parents start covering their children's ears.

"Keep it down, okay?" Troy asks.

"Please don't make a scene," Maddie pleads.

"In my own restaurant? I still have to pay child support, Maddie!" Frank goes, stretching his arms out at her. "Oh, no! I'm not gonna make a scene! I was just told, excuse me, that my horrible, hoe wife has been giving handys to every man in Arkansas!" He's going up to the customers who are eating. "Oh, excuse me? Oh, did you get a handy from my wife? Huh? Did you get a handy from my hoe wife? Does anybody here have any plans of having illegitimate children with my hoe wife, that I should know about?"

That escalated quickly.

Wylie throws his legs out of the booth we're sitting at. He goes behind Frank and starts massaging his shoulders. "It's all good, man," says Wylie, attempting to comfort him. "We're gonna be all good. Just let me get these stress knots out of there for you."

"Well, fellas, and daughter," Frank says, calming down with Wylie still massaging him. "Before I got that bit of news, I actually came over here to help. I've missed those days when I used to steal school mascots, haze freshman and scam my way through situations. I see you teens come here in my Floppy burger every time you win. I wanna be a part of what you guys are doing. If I'm gonna be spending my money, I wanna be spending it my way."

"I dunno, Frank," Troy sighs, as he gets out of his seat, patting the Floppy Burger owner on the shoulder, as Wylie stops massaging him.

"I'll pay for your drinks and anything else you might need?" Frank adds.

Troy spins back round on his heel at Frank saying, "Welcome to the gang!"

Maddie screws her face up. "Hey! So, you're gonna let my dad join just like that, but not me?"

"Shut up, Mad," Troy says. "Now. We need a way to get Chucko to crumble. He's not gonna just confess all his tactics to us so we have to be logical with it."

Wylie sighs. "If only truth serum was real," he says.

"It is," I say.

"Uh, no it's not," Wylie replies. "Next thing you'll be telling me is pixie dust and elves are real. Except for ghouls. You know those funny little green ghouls that go 'aah!'" Wylie moves his fingers around. "Oh, and leprechauns, those are real, right Herk? Back me up, buddy?"

Herk narrows his eyes looking emotionless. "I have to go and help my family set up the pub," he says, getting up off his seat. "Have a good rest of St Patrick's day, guys. And Maddie."

Herk downs his green milkshake in one deep gulp and leaves through the doors.

I turn to Wylie. "Truth serum is real, Wylie," I say. "And I'll prove it to you."

We all take a green milkshake for the road. Frank follows us as he leaves with a bag of more drinks. He takes off a lid and starts chugging some milkshake himself.

Maddie leans her hand on the glass door of Floppy burger. She turns to her dad. "Don't you need someone to cover you or something?" she asks him.

"Oh, right," says Frank. He turns around at his employees and points at a guy. "Jimmy, you're in charge! Don't let me find out y'all been eating the fries while I'm gone, or you're all fired!"

The Floppy Burger staff all nod their heads back at Frank, from behind the counter. One of them has their mouth crammed with something. A french fry pokes out when he tries to do a late reply with a muffle.

* * *

I lead us all outside Gretchen's house. I knock on her front door.

Troy peers down at my sneakers. "What are those?" he asks. "The laces are a tad long, won't you say?"

I look down at them myself. He's right. My new green and white sneakers have laces that way overcompensate. They're cheap. I spent all my allowances on my Jammal's. My sneaker's laces look like a friggin' bow on a birthday present. They could easily snag on a branch or a long twig or something.

"I don't care, man, as long as it goes with this green top," I say, pimp pinching at my own jersey.

Gretchen answers her door. "Vince? Troy? Maddie? Wylie? The manager of Floppy Burger?" she asks, in intervals.

"Hey," Frank replies, before cracking the lid open of another green milkshake before drinking it.

"Gretchen," I greet her grinning. "We need you to help us settle an argument. Wylie's telling me truth serum is make believe. I'm saying it's real."

"Yes, of course its real," Gretchen replies.

I grin at Wylie.

"I have truth serum if you want some?" Gretchen offers.

We all look at each other and then back at Gretchen.

Gretchen parts herself to the side as she lets us inside. We take off our shoes till we're down to our socks. Gretchen guides us upstairs till we're outside a room with a sign saying 'Do not disturb.'

She stops us in our tracks. "Now, I can not stress this enough. Please. Don't. Touch. Anything," Gretchen says, as she opens her door.

It's her bedroom. The single bed by the window with a pink duvet is a dead give away. I'm not thinking this is even a bedroom. There's nothing but experiments around everywhere. Test tubes, beakers, graphs and machines taking up all the room's space. There's a machine with it's own door, big enough to have someone walk right into it. Above her bed is a poster of Albert Einstein.

Troy looks over at Gretchen. "Why weren't you at the party last night?" he asks her.

"I don't believe I got an invite," she replies.

"It wasn't invite-only, Gretch," I say to her as she goes for her test tubes putting them in a different spot. "It was on public, that means anyone could have showed up."

"Well, parties of any such magnitude are not really for me," she replies, pausing to look back at me. She looks back at all of us. "Whose gonna use the serum?" she asks. Wylie nods his head before any one else can react. "Two drops will suffice. No more, okay? Not three. Not ten. Just two drops of Sodium thiopental," she explains, handing over an eye drop bottle. "Now, what did I just say?"

"Huh?" Wylie asks, trailing bubbling chemicals with his finger. He turns back to her. "Yeah yeah. Two drops. No problem."

"This is important," Gretchen says. "If you put less than two drops it won't work. If you put more than two drops it will backfire on you, and pretty much anyone else in a five yard radius." She turns to Frank. "Hi, erm, I was wondering. Do you know the exact content amount of pink slime that are in Floppy burgers?"

"Not exactly," Frank goes, perplexed. He's looked confused ever since he's walked in her room. "It's just the usual moved-deprived steroid-overloaded meat that we're already used to."

Wylie chuckles to himself. "Sounds like, Coach," he says.

Gretchen looks back at me. I smile. I pat Wylie on the back and get us all back on track as we leave Gretchen's house.

She bids us farewell, good luck and asks us to report back to her with our findings. Us five walk back down the sidewalk. Wylie now with truth serum in hand.

Troy smiles to himself. "Pink slime. I like that," Troy goes, out loud. "That would make a real good insult for Chucko. 'Hey you, pink slime!'"

"Okay," I say, stopping still. I take yet another green milkshake out of Frank's bag. "We have the truth serum. What we need now is transport."

"Joey's Grand Thrift Auto shop," Troy replies, in quick succession. "He's stacked with cars and Frank is stacked with money."

Maddie shakes her head at Troy, putting her fists on her waist. "You shouldn't use people like that," she says.

"Oh, is that right?" Troy goes. He looks at Maddie as she takes a sip of her green drink. "You enjoying that milkshake?"

"Mhmm," she mumbles.

Troy takes it from her. He dashes back where we came from. He parkours up Gretchen's house. He roofs it. Sort of. Probably someone of Herk's height could reach it, but he isn't with us. Maddie can't reach it herself as she jumps up and down at it, moaning at Troy at the same time.

Maddie huffs out loud. She motions towards Wylie. "Hey, um, could get my drink down?" she asks him, biting her lip.

I can feel Wylie's heat increase just looking at him. Wylie grabs me by the shirt. He hands over his drink to Maddie and takes mine out of my hand and gives it to her too.

He prompts me to crouch down. It would make more sense for me to go for it, I'm taller. I just want this to be over. It would also make more sense for him not to act this way towards Maddie. He's got a thing for Ashley Q. And Maddie's not particularly available even if she was single. I go in position as Wylie reaches up for her drink. He dangles on the roof not needing support for the time being.

Troy has his arms crossed. He nudges Maddie. "Why don't you take a sip from some of theirs?" he suggests to her.

Maddie shrugs and takes a sip of my drink. Troy sighs and walks off.

"I've almost got your drink, Maddie!" Wylie declares.

Maddie looks back at Troy whose walking off, to Wylie dangling on the roof. "Oh!" she gasps.

Only now, Maddie realizes Troy made her use us and even take our drinks while she watched.

Gretchen opens her door to us. "You guys are still here?" she asks.

I stand back up straight. "Sorry, Gretch," I apologize. "We're going."

She smiles back at me. I walk back on the sidewalk with the gang.

"Okay, I'm coming back down, Vince!" Wylie shouts.

Oh shoot. I forgot Wylie. I turn back around at Gretchen still holding her front door still slightly ajar.

Thud! Wylie falls back down with a crash. Gretchen gives a subdued smile. She closes the door on us.

We make our way to Joey's house. It's quite a smooth looking bungalow. I've never been. I'm walking towards the front door but everyone else follows Troy whose going towards the outside of the garage door. Troy hits the garage door in a Morse code. The doors rattle open.

"Troy!" Joey greets him. "How goes it?"

Joey's garage is full of new and old cars. Some cars are in construction. Others are stylized. There's a truck in the center of the garage just standing out to all the others. It has a flame paint job, big shiny wheels with a license plate with 'FXK BOE.'

"We need some wheels and I think you know which one," Troy says, looking at the truck.

"I was gonna give it my sister but she doesn't want it, Troy, you know how that is," Joey says, slapping the hood of the truck. "So, seeing as she didn't want it. I kind of went a bit overboard with the paint job, the spoilers and the hydraulics."

I can't take my eyes off of it. "It's positively whompadelic!" I say.

"It's worth much much more now," Joey explains to us.

Wylie nods back. "I'm sure Frank can afford it," Wylie says.

"Good," Joey says. "It's at least fives times the original asking price."

Troy asks, "So that's what?"

"We're talking 25 G's," Joey replies. Troy breaths out in shock. "I didn't think you'd actually come back for it."

We all turn our heads to Frank.

"Twenty two thousand and a half's all I've got right now," Frank says. "I've been setting up franchises from coast to coast." He looks at Joey. "You don't take Floppy Burger coupons, do ya?"

Joey shakes his head slowly. "Troy, you're still taking this?" Joey asks, slapping on the hood of the truck. Troy nods. "I'll reserve it for you until you can pay up. All right, you got your provisional license?"

"Yeah, but we can just skip through that," Troy replies.

Frank lifts out a hand. "Plus I'll be driving," he says.

"Yeah," Troy goes, pointing at Frank. He turns at Joey. "Plus he's driving so—"

"What are you talking about?" Joey asks. "If you're buying this off me Troy, I need your number to attach to the truck if you're gonna be keeping it. My business has to be legit somehow. Look, just hand me your I.D."

Troy squints his eyes and looks off in the distance. "I mean, who even drives trucks, right? That's not cool."

"We've come this far," I say. I take out my I.D and flash it around at everyone. "See, I've got mine." Maddie, Wylie and Frank take out their cards too. "I'm seeing everybody with theirs, so just pop yours out, man."

"Nobody calls me this anymore," Troy says. "And I feel like it's a pretty long complicated name. It's gonna be hard to pronounce."

"It's not," I reply. "Because everybody called you that in middle school, so pop it out because it's definitely a rule, and Joey's not gonna let you have the truck without it."

"It's been so long. It's probably not even my name legally anymore."

"You're gonna have to pop it out."

Joey turns from me and then Troy scratching his hair. "I don't have all day. I wish I did," he goes, lifting out his hand adamant.

"Okay," Troy sighs.

I smile wide. Ha ha! Yes! Troy slowly reaches into his pocket. He lifts out his card from his wallet. His hand is completely shielding the card. He hands it over. Joey takes it with relief. He looks at it. He gives it a double take. Maddie takes Troy's I.D card off Joey with her curiosity getting the better of her. She drops the card and holds her face with her mouth open. Wylie catches it. Frank comes over and looks. Joey walks over to look again. Wylie spins the card around.

Thomas Tānk Engine Morteza.

Wylie and Frank stand there surprised. Joey still hasn't said anything yet. None of them have. Maddie covers her mouth but can't stop giggling. I keep smiling.

Troy stares at me. "Could you quit it for a minute?" he asks. "Can you manage that?"

I sigh back at him. "I think I can, I think I can," I reply, mimicking 'the little engine that could.' Joey has caught on with what I meant and laughs. "Good. Well, okay, Thomas Tānk Engine—"

"Don't call me that," Troy replies.

"Well, it is your name," I reaffirm. "So, Thomas, I'm gonna take a step outside to see what my big brother's got to say." I turn to the others. "And I'll meet up with you guys later."

I finally let out a laugh I've been holding in as I leave.

Troy looks around. "Hey. No one, no one calls me—"

I walk away from the conversation and go for my phone. I need advice. We're not going anywhere fast. I text my big brother Chad on the Whaddown app.

I text Chad. 'I need some help trying to trick my opponents by any means. Got any ideas?'

I stand and wait. Everyone else is still in Joey's garage. I get a rumble from my phone. That was fast. No. It's Spinelli.

'Spinelli: Sup? I'm just inside. If Troy's with you don't bother doe. I'm serious. Add me on Clipgoss. 'Whoa_Spinelli.''

I add Spinelli.

Troy walks up to me. "Vincent Pierre LaSalle. What you doing?" he asks.

I tell Troy it's nothing. Everybody one by one leaves Joey's garage. We walk down the street together. I got a few notifications but nothing from Chad yet. I keep checking and rechecking my phone. We need a way to get to 98th Street high in Louisiana. In fact, how can we even be sure Chucko's gonna be at school on a Saturday anyway? I feel another rumble in my pocket. I check on my phone.

'Chad: Don't do anything stupid, Vince. Meet me at Comicopolus.'

Troy trudges, looking down at his Zeus sneakers. "I guess Spinelli wasn't here either," Troy sighs.

"Nah, she was," I reply, taking out my phone. "She just messaged me not to see her if Troy is with me and she—"

"What?" Troy goes. "What the heck's her—?"

"Quiet, T!" Wylie says, quieting him down. "What else she say?"

"Oh, nothing," I reply, opening up my app. "It's just that, she added me on her Clipgoss and sent me a picture."

Spinelli sent me some blurred picture. The Clipgoss story says it's supposed to be James Stone when he was posing as the janitor. It's a weird snap of him. It's really blurry and he's taking a pose like he's trying to snatch whoever is taking the picture.

Troy looks at it. "What the hecks that?" he asks.

Wylie looks too. "Is it supposed to be one of those unholy internet shock pictures?"

"If it is," Maddie says, "don't show me."

"I'll send the story public to all my contacts on Clipgoss," I say, linking everyone to my story. "I'll leave somebody else to figure it out."

We walk to Comicoplous. I've never been here either. It's a huge building. It says on the outside it's 'The world's biggest comic book store.' We go through inside the store. There's many people checking out the comics. We stand out to everybody else. It's like there's a whole world of pale kids. We leave the comic library and go further inside. It's bare with only a few people walking around and a lot of space. There's a door opened for Magic: The conjuring.

We go inside. It's different. There's people from all walks of life and backgrounds this time. Not the typical geek stereotype but young and old, both trendy and geeky people. Cool. There's long tables with people playing the card game against each other. The uncoolest of the uncool, to the typically cooler than average.

The gang splits up. Wylie and Frank go along together. Troy and Maddie go together. I go on my own to find Chad.

There's a tourney going on. Two commentators are narrating the Magic match that's happening before me. There's a small crowd around them. It's some guy with his hat reversed. No way he reminds me of Teej, though. He's facing against the coolest person I know. My big brother Chad. I haven't seen Chad for a few weeks but he looks pretty much the same. He's wearing a long Jamàcamon plush beanie hat with ear flaps that go all the way down to his waist. The self proclaimed geek that's comfortable in his own skin.

Chad lays down his card sideways and his opponent puts down his defense. The game has a lot of mystical made-up creatures. One thing I do know, is that all a lot is on the line. They're so cautious on their moves. The commentators explain what's going on.

"We're at a standstill as both wizards have fallen to their final creatures," says the commentator.

"It's all down to the final moves," says the other commentator. Chad puts down his Bounitful Bunny against his opponents Ceremonial slug. "It's the last hurrah from the champion and it's a shocker. The lowest rank card in the kingdom that needs a heap of mana to work."

Troy stands beside me looking pretty enthralled by the game too. He's by himself.

"Where's Maddie?" I ask him.

"Beats me," he says, looking unconcerned. "We parted ways when she kept yammering on about wanting to make new friends or something, I wasn't really listening. She's mingling, Vince, I dunno. Hey. Your brother is really good. You see that strategy he just pulled out?"

Chad takes something from his deck. It's a card to summon a spell with his bunny. It takes out the other guy's ceremonial slug. Chad's opponent lowers down his head in defeat.

"And that's all she wrote," the commentator says. "Chad LaSalle remains Magic: the conjuring champion."

"Chad!" I call him.

I catch him up to speed with what my team mates are gonna do.

"Vince, what's with the urgency?" Chad goes, chopping up his cards into a deck and handing it over to me. I pop them in my pocket. "Haven't you learned anything from cannon balling the teachers car?"

"Chad, but I told you he wasn't really a teacher," I say.

"Oh yeah," Chad goes. "But at the same time, the not stealing car rule that we keep in society, should still apply."

"Chad," Troy chuckles. "You shoulda been there though. Vince had no choice."

"That's the thing though, gentlemen. We always have choices, and it's the impending punishment we could get that should help us choosing from right or wrong," Chad says to us two.

Commentators interrupt us saying, "And his choice could not have been any more domineering."

"What?" I say

"Chad," the other commentator goes. "Word of folk law. The people's champion. Will he ever be beat? It will remain to be seen. Next time on Magic the conjuring live in Comicopolous 12 pm pacific and 3pm eastern time."

We walk and talk with Chad. We break down our idea of traveling to Louisiana, confronting Chad and his team, before playing them in the Golden cup game tomorrow.

Wylie is playing Magic with Frank mentoring him from behind. Wylie is playing different opponents simultaneously. Frank takes money from the opponents Wylie's beating. It's a clean sweep.

"I never knew you played this," I say.

"I don't," Wylie replies, going to each match as he picks up his cards. "Those funny little ghouls on the card can have all this spell power they call manga or something. It's sweet."

"Vince," Frank calls, with money and nerdy watches dripping out of his hand. "These nerds are made of cash. That's what all those nights of not getting invited to all those popular people parties get ya."

Some guys wearing black T- shirts and staff cards around their neck come up to us. "You gotta leave, sir," he says to Frank and Wylie.

"It's a free country," Frank replies, counting his money.

"Actually, it's a five dollar entry fee into the tourney, which you didn't pay," says the member of staff. "And we haven't even taken to account your sandbagging technique. Not being good at the game and then becoming really good all of a sudden."

Maddie chuckles facing someone one on one in a card game. Wylie and I move away from Frank's argument. Chad stayed to vouch for Frank. He has no reason to. I head towards Maddie. Her opponent is a little girl, probably nine, or even younger.

"You fail at this game," that little girl says to her. "Hard."

"It's my first try," Maddie replies, laying down her deck of cards.

"You're just putting all the shiny girl wizards out in combat with no armor and no mana," the little girl tells Maddie. "You play like a full retard."

Wylie laughs. The staff have split up and there here to throw Maddie out too.

"You don't—" Maddie starts, looking over at Wylie, the staff and her opponent again. "That's not something you say. You're mean. You're the meanest girl in the world. Okay, you know what? You better thank your lucky stars I'm not in this competition because I would eat you for breakfast."

"Whatevs. I don't even like magic. My mom dumped me here so she could buy my sister new pom poms for Regionals or whatever."

"Ah, that's next week," Maddie says. "You shouldn't be here. Your mom doesn't know dick. She's a dumb fat cow, and your sister, she's a crummy little crap-mouthed bitch, isn't she?"

"You just said a lot of bad words," the little girl gasps.

The staff intervene and pick Maddie up and away from the table. She walks away with me and Wylie.

"That hit home for you?" I ask Maddie.

"Yeah. You could say that," she replies.

We head away from the tourney. The pale kids are here. Frank Sedgewick, Rodney, Steve and Carl. We're about to go up to them, exchange handshakes, maybe brainstorm some ideas seeing as they're a grade above us, and they actually go to 98th Street High. We stop. Oh no. They're not alone. Felicia the goat is with them. She waves at us. She's the female pale kid.

"Aw, man," Wylie moans, wincing back at us, trying to back away. Felicia walks up to us. "Here comes the garbage pale kid."

"Aw, crap," Troy says out in a low whisper, as he covers his face.

"Hey suckers," Felicia greets us.

Felicia is the definition of nerd girl. But it's the cuteness, sweet awkwardness and the brain of a kind so unknown that she doesn't possess. At all. Not like Gretchen, whose metal in her smile makes her shine. Felicia's hair is curly with dangled streaks of little paper towels.

"Hey Felicia, you look, different," I say.

She's wearing a Christmas sweater. It's the middle of March.

"I have more confidence now. I've lost all of my eczema," Felicia brags, chewing down on her tongue with her mouth open.

"Good for you," Maddie congratulates, but still look uncomfortably at her. We all are. "You're showing a lot of leg, like, a lot."

Maddie's not kidding. Felicia has a really short mini skirt, that's barely visible below her sweater.

"Jealous?" Felicia snorts. "My body is ready. I'm sixteen now, I'm not a lip-virgin anymore." She turns at my best friend. "Troy? You wanna make out?"

"Ugh, uh, we're busy right now so—" Troy starts.

"Hey guys, you wanna get high?" Felicia asks, straight after Troy's rejection like it doesn't even faze her. "I have some hippy crack at my house."

Maddie shrieks, "Oh my god!"

Troy sighs at Maddie. "It's not what you think it is," Troy says.

"I've got nitrous oxide we can fill up with balloons to puff, puff, pass, so when we show up at Comicopolous with high pitched voices everyone's gonna be like 'what?'" Felicia says, rambling on. She chews her tongue with her mouth open again. She chortles a laugh, bleating out loud exactly like a goat would sound.

"Whatever, Felicia," Wylie goes, looking away from her.

"Yes, we'll do that," I say, looking back at the tourney from outside.

Felicia pauses watching us all. "You guys gonna come?" she asks.

I nod my head. "Whatever you say. We'll come in a second. Wait outside, we'll come get you," I say.

Felicia finally leaves.

Wylie looks stricken. "There any water we can spray on her?" Wylie asks.

Troy shakes his head. "There's not enough goat repellent in the world for her," he says.

"Don't say that," Maddie goes.

Wylie looks back at Maddie. "You don't think we're proud of that, do you? Goats don't like to be wet and it's the only way you can handle her. You should know. You were there when we named her the goat."

"Oh, duh," Maddie says. "Yeah, I knew that."

I put my hand out. "Hold on a minute," I say. I turn to Maddie. "Why do we call her Felicia the goat?"

"What you mean?" Maddie asks.

"You said you know, right? So tell us why we call her Goat?" I ask her.

Everyone turns and looks at Maddie. Frank is coming towards us with security. She looks at him and back at us.

"So, Wylie, how much money did you and my dad swindle? We got enough for the truck?" Maddie asks.

"Don't avoid the question," I say.

"Goat's an acronym. She's the greatest of all time."

"She's not Jammal Van Johnson. I thought you were acting strange at the party. You didn't know where Troy was because you didn't know who he was."

Wylie looks into Maddie's eyes. "Are you not the real Maddie?" asks Wylie.

Maddie looks at the ground. "I lost my memory after I woke up after all that time. I've been pretending I didn't, because I was scared you guys wouldn't wanna be friends with me anymore."

Troy puts his hand on her shoulder. "Maddie. That's the last thing why we don't wanna be friends with you," he says. Maddie smiles back. "You remember me though, yeah?"

"Not really, no," she replies.

Troy looks around at everyone. "Why don't we just ask Ashley B for the money, Vince?" asks Troy, swiftly changing the subject.

Wylie says, "It's not like she hasn't got it."

Maddie turns at me. "The dumping her thing can wait," Maddie suggests.

I juggle morals in my head. "You got be an opportunist, right? Because on one hand it feels really messed up like I'm using her, but in the long run it's seems like something I should be doing, you know, for the team. You're not gonna make it to pro league without breaking a few bones. I mean, she'll understand," I say.

Frank is escorted out of the store. We follow him. The pale kids follow too.

I take my phone out. The Magic: the conjuring security go back inside. Felicia isn't outside yet. Chad comes out too.

I call Ashley. It's weird. It's silence. Everyone's staring at me making this phone call. It just hits me that this entire plan hangs on this going well.

"Hey Vince-y. Fancy you calling me, hun," Ashley says.

"Wassup?" I ask her, looking back at everyone.

"Not much. I guess you've been hella busy. I've like been totally trying to catch you all day—"

"Yeah, um. Ashley? Could you do me a friggin' solid and, uh—?" I start. I pause and wince my eyes shut. "Could you like, loan me, you know, just 2 and a half thousand dollars?"

There's no response. This is wrong. I messed up bad.

"I know this outta nowhere and I'm asking a lot from you, but it's for the team and—"

"All right," she responds. "Sure. You said it's for the team, right?"

"Really? Oh my god! You're amazing," I reply.

"But, you gotta do something for me first," she says.

"Yeah. Anything."

"Let me meet your parents tonight. I would love to meet them. But if that's too much for you to handle, then—?"

"No. No. Okay," I reply out low.

We say our goodbyes and end the conversation. Everyone looks back at me waiting to know what happened.

"Where's Troy?" I ask, turning my head around.

He's the first person I wanna speak to in a time like this.

Troy comes out straight away almost as if he heard me. He comes out along with Felicia. Troy has some weird red and purple bruising on his neck. Has he been fighting? Was he strangled by Felicia or someone else?

Felicia stands flushed beside Troy. She leans against the glass wall of the comic book store. She whips out her inhaler and blows smoke out of it slowly as she huffs out a seductive sigh. Feeling the mist go through her cheeks. Looking back at us all like she just had an amazing make out session. Troy looks out in space. Everyone stares back at them two. Oh. Felicia gave Troy a hickey then. Troy looks haunted, weak and disgusted. Which sort of says a lot seeing as in middle school he would be attracted to literally anyone. Boys, girls, cartoons, inanimate objects, imaginary friends. Anyone.

"I'm staying with you," Felicia says, looking at the hickey she gave Troy. She stares at it like she claimed her territory on him. "You're my boyfriend now."

"No I'm not," Troy says, snapping out of his haze. "Vince? What's with this girl? She's berserk." He looks down and back up at me. "What's Ashley Butter cup saying?"

"She said yes," I reply.

Maddie peps up. "That's great," she says.

"But only if she gets to meet my family first," I say. "Tonight."

Wylie curls his mouth and nods. "That shouldn't be too hard," says Wylie.

"Nah. It wouldn't be. If I hadn't told them yet that I have a girlfriend."

Chad looks back at me. "You haven't told mom or dad yet?" Chad goes.

"You know how Dad's like," I moan, moving my hand across my face. "I can hear him now."

* * *

"We weren't expecting Vince to bring you home tonight. Um. Ashley, is it?" Dad asks Ashley, as he sits down on the kitchen table, serving himself some food on his plate.

It's afternoon family dinner. Chad's here too which is giving me an added boost of confidence. I'm surprised Mom was actually delighted to see Ashley. It's always been about taking my education first over dating in this household. Chad hasn't even bought a girl home before and he's four years older than me.

"Yes to the last, nope to the first," Ashley replies back at Dad. She locks her eyes on me. "I didn't expect Vince to invite me over. It sorta like, happened on a whim, sort of like, a calling." She smiles replying at him but stares me down the whole time.

"Do you live far?" Mom asks her.

"From here?" Ashley asks back. Mom nods. "Yes. My house is on Sunbeam Valley."

Dad blurts out a bit of his drink. "Excuse me? Did you say you live on Sunbeam Valley?" he asks. Ashley nods. "It costs quite a pretty penny to live in that area of town, and it's among the most expensive regions in the United States to live. It's almost as if it completely shuts out the people who can't afford to live there. Not that you would know, but, do you have any idea what your parents do for a living? A rough guess?"

Could my dad be any more patronizing?

"It's okay, Mr LaSalle," replies Ashley, after she chews down her food after she eloquently slices it up. "I live in an Estate. My dad owns his own Estate Agency worth an the excess of $3.9 billion. He employs currently 82 house sellers who receive 40% commission each. He owns the monopoly of the Arkansas, Beverly Hills and River City areas. My mom retired when she was in her twenties."

"Um?" Dad goes, dropping his fork. "You said your mother retired—"

"In her twenties, yep," Ashley finishes.

I laugh. Ashley looks shocked at me. "No no," I say, waving my hands at her. "I'm not laughing at your mom, Ashley. It's kinda extraordinary. Our family are all about working hard, and to have the luxury to just retire in your twenties is just—"

Chad chuckles, "Awesome awesome?"

"Yeah yeah," I reply back at him.

I'm learning more about Ashley B than I ever did before. Why haven't I ever asked her this? She knows what my mom and dad do.

"Boulet," Mom says, cutting between Chad and I. "That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you," Ashley replies, "it's french."

"Really?" Mom says, all intrigued. "Because our family's name is French as well. It's in Franklin's heritage.

"LaSalle and Boulet," Ashley says aloud thinking to herself. "It's like it we were meant to be."

I tap Ashley on her arm while I focus on Mom. "Ashley can also speak fluent French," I boast.

Ashley shifts her eyes and looks down at her plate. "Um, may I be excused?" she asks everyone.

My parents nod and smile. Ashley leaves the table. Chad gives me a look and indicates me to go after her. I walk down the near the stair case where she's leaning the back of her head against. She blows out air. She looks bummed out.

"Everything good?" I ask her, standing beside her, leaning my head back too.

"Yeah," she sighs, rolling her head towards me. "How do you think it's going? You think they like me?"

"Deffo," I reply.

"Why did you do that?" she asks.

"Do what?"

"Said I speak french."

"But you do. Don't you?" I ask.

"Yeah. Bien sur que oui (Of course I do), but it just sounds like I'm showing off. I sound so out of place. I don't belong here. It's like your dad hates me."

"Stop," I say. "My dad's like that with everyone. He friggin' interrogates the Postman every morning, criticizing the route he takes on whether it's really beneficial on the delivery of his letters. You're doing fine. No. Better than fine." Ashley sighs staring at the wooden floor. She slowly looks back at me. "You really care about showing the right impression, huh?"

"Totally," she replies.

We return back to the dinner table.

"I think it's really wholesome doing other people taxes, Mr LaSalle," Ashley B says.

Mom shakes her head. "Ashley, honey. No need to keep going on with Franklin. I'm sure you don't wanna talk about boring taxes."

"Well," starts Ashley. "All I mean is that Thaddeus' house is for sale and you do his taxes, right? If he chooses my dad's estate agency, he could get a lot of money for it."

"Ashley," Dad goes. "I don't wanna bash your sources, but I think you're wrong. Thaddeus T Third is my client. If he was selling his home I'd be the first to know."

"My sources are reliable," Ashley replies. She goes around the table and shows my dad a message on her phone's screen. "Well, he totally is. I have the Wall Street kids on speed dial. They're from our high school." She includes me when she says it. "It's not the real stock brokers in River City, but they still use stock with real trading of stock and equities. Look." She shows him her phone again. "I only use Wall Street kids stocks for my career goals. I sort of have my immediate future already planned out. I talked to an old friend from middle school in a party recently and it got me thinking. I don't wanna rely on my parents any more." She scrolls through her phone. "Um, Vince what's the WiFi password?"

"Pass it," I say, as she throws her phone at me.

I do it for her and chuck it back.

"Okay so. Here's my fully functional fashion website. Scandalous dot com. It's very good and its selling already, but its always in need of improvement."

Chad smiles at her. "Look whose schooling my dad," he goes.

We finish up our meal and say our goodbyes.

I walk at the front door with Ashley. Chad says he loves the way Ashley B handled our dad's scrutiny of questions. Chad tells me that she's a keeper, while she right next to me still. He goes back inside to do the dishes.

I sit on the front porch with Ashley. Well, that went better than I thought it would. Dad being the one buying me the truck single-handedly is the only thing that could of possibly hit this whole thing out of the park. But that's asking for too much.

"Thanks for tonight, you really showed my dad up," I say. "You're amazing."

"I love you," says Ashley, looking back at me.

I don't say anything. It's dead silence. The only sound is coming from nocturnal creatures of the night. Crickets. I now completely get how that term of phrase came about now.

"Vince? I said I love you," she repeats.

"You know I think you're chill. I uh—" I start.

"Look," says Ashley, looking away disappointed. "I know it's probably hard for guys to say it back. I thought I'll tell you know and not completely, like, shock you with it later. It's okay if you don't feel the same tonight."

"See! That's what I love about you, Ashley. I love how you're understanding. I love how you can be funny and make fun of yourself. I love all the fashion stuff, that's never not been cool—"

Ashley stretches out her head eagerly in wait for me to say it. The four words of I love you too together with no filler in between. But I can't. Ashley smiles back and it's impossible not to notice that she's stopping herself from welling up. She looks devastated. I press my lips on to hers. It's soft. Her face is soft, like really soft. The hit of her perfume and her strawberry lip gloss makes everything feel tropical. A complete double whammy. Unlike Ashley Q at the party, this feels kind of special. This feels kinda nice.

"Wow," says Ashley. "So that's what a kiss is like. Vince, I—I can't believe you wanted to share your first ever kiss with me."

"Yep," I lie, trying not to shift my eyes.

Ashley hands out a check made out for Two and a half thousand dollars with Mr Boulet's name and signature on it.

"Here's the money. I hope you don't find this weird, like I'm soliciting kisses off you," she says.

"I didn't really. Until you mentioned it," I reply.

* * *

 **"Marry, bonk, assassinate,"** Troy starts.

We're out here in Louisiana. Troy in the passenger seat, Frank in the driver's, with Maddie, Wylie and me at the back. We've been waiting outside 98th Street high in the new truck for the Pale kids, for what seems like forever now. We just continue to stake out and wait.

Troy continues. "How about Gretchen Grundler, Molly Sanchez and a different type of Ashley. Ashley Spinelli?"

Frank turns around at Troy. "Are they the newer ones?" he asks.

"Newer what?" Troy asks.

"I know how Marry, bonk, assassinate works. I've played it. I've just never heard of these celebrities before, are they new?"

"No," Maddie laughs, tapping her dad on the arm. "Molly, Spinelli and Gretchen aren't famous. Not yet anyway. They're girls at our school, Dad."

"This is bad!" Frank shouts. "We gotta play a different game. A game where it can not imply that I'm diddling kids. Jerks get pinched for less, and when you get thrown into prison with the other crazies, it's the end for you. So we gotta definitely make up a game about how I do not diddle kids. A board game about older broads, I spy with my grown up eye, you know, something like that."

"Chill, man," I say at him. "We can pass the time another way."

Troy laughs. "There is no quicker way for people to think that you are diddling kids than you making a game about it."

"I'm cloudy, I got a headache," Frank moans holding his head. He heads out of the truck. "Uh, excuse me."

Us three guys look at Maddie. She just smiles nonchalantly and just shrugs. Frank is just outside of the truck. We carry on with the game. I pick to marry Gretchen, bonk Molly and kill Spinelli. I can't see myself doing it with Spinelli. She's a good friend. So is Molly, but I've just met her quite recently. It's all hypothetical. Maddie's, Troy's and Wylie's choices slightly differ but there's clearly something similar.

"You all wanna marry Gretchen," I say.

I'm not the only one.

"Yeah," says Wylie, in all matter of fact. "She's really intelligent, so she's bound to become rich someday."

"Marriage isn't all about stability," I reply.

"Then what is it all about then?" Wylie asks back.

I stop and stare at the guys and Maddie. I struggle for an answer. Ashley B and I are basically married and she loaned me money for this truck just like that. Marriage is all about money. Everyone knows Gretchen's worth. I would rather have Gretchen around and be with her if I had to choose.

Frank opens the door and says, "The freaks and geeks are here!"

We climb out of the truck.

The Pale kids are on the other side of their school's fence. They are overdressed in full black and balaclavas. The guys and I are still wearing our casual green gear from earlier today.

"What are you guys wearing?" I ask them. They open the gate for us. "We're supposed to be blending in, not standing out like we're going to rob the place."

Sedgewick pulls down his black scarf. "All we heard was sabotage and infiltration, so we are dressing to suit the part."

Frank holds back with the truck for our get away. The Pale kids lead the way for the rest of us. It's their school after all. The school has a lot of open space outside like a small courtyard. There's a big American flag outside. We go inside the school.

Music is playing down the hallway. The color scheme's purple and orange. On the floor is confetti and 'Go tigers' on banners across the orange lockers. A few purple tiger paws printed on the ground like footsteps.

Our football kits have always clashed. We're purple and gold. They're purple and orange. And both of our football kits are predominately purple. Was that Principle Third's intention? Arkansas Razorbacks are supposed to be red and white. It's the high school Hogs that seem to be purple and gold though. It's always caused a feud anyhow. But our match on Sunday is a one time thing for the year. I wonder whose gonna have to wear an away kit. That's always unlucky. At least the match is set at our stadium at Thad high.

We go towards where all the atmosphere is coming from. It's a big lounge with sofa's, green balloons, teenagers our age drinking beers, and girls. Lots and lots of girls. We sneak inside and try to merge in. No way can we let ourselves get seen and recognized by Chucko and his cronies. Troy covers his whole face by squeezing his head into his sleeveless hood. Maddie nods her head to the music and goes further inside. Wylie steals a few cellphones off a table.

"Careless," Wylie says as he takes the phones. He takes someone elses glasses that they left and puts them on, hiding his identity at the same time.

I back away into the crowd myself.

The party's live. Everyone's getting down. Everyone's living it up. St. Patrick's day is not over yet. They're celebrating like they've won the golden boot cup already. They've pretty much already won the championship this year as they've accumulated almost enough points to.

Enter stage right. Chucko Kowolski. Chucko has a little tiger cub with him. It's the size of a grown mutt with a spiked collar. It chews down a steak Chucko's dangling for it to play with. He gets to actually parade that animal around? It's cute but deadly at the same time. Their real mascot is really hard not to like.

"Hey!" Chucko shouts, pulling at his tiger cub to settle down. "What are you twerps doing here?"

I slump down on a couch. He's sniffed us out already.

Chucko kicks out the Pale kids. "Cool kids only!" Chucko shouts, with his tiger cub dangerously close enough to bite them.

I look over at Troy, Wylie and Maddie. They weren't caught. We're by ourselves now. That was close.

"Hey Vince."

I turn my head to the side. It's Ashley Q. She scoots up closer to me.

"Yo," I say back, looking back at her in quick intervals.

"So, you come to surprise me or what?" she asks, as I feel her eyes lock on to me.

"I'm here for Chucko," I reply.

"Oh," she replies, taking a sip from her drink. "You came to surprise him." She looks down at my ring. "I suppose you haven't won the golden boot cup yet, so that must be an abstinence ring?"

"Yeah."

I stare away from her. Wylie is shadowing Chucko and his squad like a bad fart. He's right there hanging around him. He tries to drop the truth serum directly into his cup. Chucko's friends laugh. Wylie joins in and laughs too. They all look back at Wylie. They catch him in the act of putting something into Chucko's cup. He tips over the cup as he pretends to be blind. They're not buying it. He adjusts his black shaded glasses and just fades away awkwardly. It's so awkward not even the tiger cub is reacting.

The chance is gone.

"It's Ashley B, isn't it?" Ashley Q asks.

I nod.

Maddie is struggling to keep conversations with people. She dances off beat, waving her arms like a Wacky-Waving-Inflatable-Arm-Flailing-Tubeman, making people walk away from her as they sip their drinks.

Ashley Q continues saying, "I thought she was a real friend. I thought all the Ashley's were. I guess I get what I deserve don't I?" She looks over at Wylie. She holds her head. "Oh my god! What's Wylie doing here!"

Wylie is spiking the whole punch with the truth serum and stirs it with his finger. He looks over at me and gives me the signal that he's made the drop. I think it was supposed to be two drops or bust. I guess it's better to make sure. Chucko's gonna need a refill sooner or later.

Wylie comes over to us. He stops at Ashley Q. "Hey, I thought you were gonna be at your family's pub tonight," he asks.

"Ugh! I hate family reunions," Ashley Q replies, in disgust at probably both Wylie and his question. She takes down her whole drink. "You know what? I'm just gonna go get more wasted, and then I'm gonna make out with some random dude."

Wylie points at his chest. "Really? Could it be this guy?" he asks.

"No it can't, but it could be Vince," Ashley Q goes, staring back at me.

"Pass," I reply.

"Whatever," Ashley Q moans.

Maddie trudges towards us with her head down. "I should just face it," Maddie sighs. "Everybody's just hating on all of this." Maddie waves her hands over her whole body from her hair down to her waist. "There's a strict no flex zone here. I'm not drunk enough. All three Ashley hate me—"

"Really?" says Ashley Q. She moves herself away from Wylie whose trying to put his arm around her. "That's friggin' amazing."

Ashley Q gets up and goes away with Maddie back amongst the party. Maddie looks shocked and delighted back at us both. Wylie and I walk back to the table with the tainted punch bowl.

Troy comes up to us. He's trying to shoo Felicia the goat off of him. I blanked. I forgot Felicia goes to this school too. Her, the Pale kids and Chucko are all in the grade above us in 98th Street High.

"Stop touching me," Troy pleads, trying to get Felicia's arms off of him. "Just stop."

"Whoa!" I shout out, noticing them like they're are a new item. "What's this?"

Felicia gets pushed off by Troy. "Me and Troy are together," she says.

Wylie looks back at Troy. "You can't be bonking Felicia the goat," says Wylie.

"I'm not bonking Felicia the goat!" Troy moans, as he finally shrugs her off. "She followed me here." Felicia stands next to him chewing her tongue with her mouth open. "She was doing that the whole time."

"Leave just leave please," Wylie asks her.

Felicia walks off to the table. She turns at Troy. "Hey, babe, I'll get you a drink from the table," she offers. She looks back at us. "Guys, lets do shots and get crazy."

"No, Felicia, no," Wylie orders.

"Go!" Troy shouts. "Get out of here."

"Yeah right," Felicia laughs, as she pours Jägerbombs into a row of four small shot glasses.

I shake my head. I'm astonished. "Why ain't she getting it?" I go.

Maddie comes running out with a spray a bottle. She squirts it over Felicia as she runs away back to the open door. "Ya! Get out of here, Goat!" Maddie shouts, spraying at Felicia, making her paper towels hanging from her hair soak wet. "Ya, ya, ya! Go, Goat! Ya, ya, ya! Ya! Ya!"

Felicia stops at the open door "Hey, guys! Hey, guys! Guys, guys!" she says. Maddie stops spraying her. "I was gonna invite you guys all to an iPort party to hang out, but now I don't wanna hang out with you anymore."

"Oh, my God," I say. "Spray the goat. Just spray her."

"Wait, wait! Do you guys wanna go?" Felicia asks.

"No, no! We don't wanna go!" I reply back.

"Wait! I have glow sneaks."

Maddie sprays the rest of the bottle as she chases Felicia out through the hallway.

Troy holds his chest breathing in slowly. "What is with that girl?" he asks.

Wylie looks back at Troy. "She is the worst, right?"

I join in. "That's what we've been saying," I say.

Maddie walks back to us catching her breath. "That was a terrible experience for me by the way," she says.

"Nobody likes spraying the goat, but she gives you no choice," I say.

Maddie puts her spray bottle down. "I'm all worked up now. I feel bad. I wanna make friends too but not," she says, as she points at wherever Felicia ran to.

Chucko walks straight in front of us. We stop still. We don't move. Chucko hasn't noticed us. We slowly walk backwards away from him not saying anything. He walks towards the truth serum spiked punch bowl and fills up a cup. He scrunches up his face, sensing something's up. He turns around to face us. We spin back around. Our backs are facing him. There's a couch right in front of us. We look so stupid. But he hasn't noticed it's us. Wylie moves to take a seat on it. I grab him by the arm and pull him back up.

"Hey, honey dip," Chucko says. "I was just thinking. You and me, we should totally tongue lash."

"Really?" a girl near to him replies.

"Definitely."

Maddie blinks hard. "Oh my gawd," she moans.

Wylie nudges her hard on the arm. "Shut up, Mad," he goes.

We all sneak a look back. Chucko has moved slightly away from us, and he's talking to a girl from his school. He's heard us. He looks around at who said that. The gang and I look away.

"You never been to a party before?" Chucko continues saying to the girl. "Cause it's my party and I'm kind of important, you get me?"

"But you're gross, Chucko," she replies.

Chucko takes the glass to his lips. We take a quick turn to look.

Chucko is about to take a sip but he stops. "You see my tiger?"

"Yeah and I'm not impressed," she replies. "That poor baby really should be in a zoo or something."

"I'm the best wide receiver in the league, though."

I sigh and shake my head.

Maddie turns towards me. "What is it?" she asks me.

"I'm kinda like a big deal, all right?" I reply. "I'm the best wide receiver. Check the stats. I'm the golden child. Not him."

Maddie laughs and sneaks a glance at Chucko again. We all do.

Chucko is about to take a sip of his drink. He stops and lowers his cup. "There's like half an hour of St Patrick's day left, so it's, what, a few hours until the biggest match in this school's history," he says. "I need some luck. Some Irish luck. So if you don't wanna swap spit then you're pretty much damning the team. The school's team will lose if we don't tillie waggle."

"Well, okay," the girl replies. She pauses and thinks. "I don't want our school to lose."

I feel my eyebrows raise out of my friggin' forehead. "I can't believe that worked," I say.

Troy leans at me. "Off beat strategy," he goes at me. We all look at Chucko for the umpteenth time. Chucko takes the drink to his lips. He moves it closer, closer and closer to his mouth. He puts it down. He puts his drink to the side. "Aw, come on!"

We turn and look away and pretend to talk amongst ourselves. We snag a peek. Finally, Chucko downs the whole drink. He stands still. He burps a little and puts his drink back down. He starts going back and forth chatting with that girl once more. Nothing happened. It doesn't work.

The girl puts new lip gloss on her lips staring back at Chucko.

Chucko cranks his neck looking back at her and says, "We can find a spare couch somewhere. I remember—" Chucko barfs a massive green gunk all over the girl. It sprays out completely covering the girls face down to her chest.

She screams out loud. Gags a little. Turning back around, she runs away from Chucko.

The gang and I turn back around. We smile together trying to hold in our laughter. I knew this plan was crazy. Bust-a-gut-funny, but crazy. Chucko walks off. We turn back around and collapse on the sofa. We watch around as the party goes on. We pause just sitting together for a while. We're not entirely sure where to go from here.

Troy gets a call on his phone. He puts it on loud speaker for us all to hear.

"Chucko's in the bathroom," we hear Frank Sedgewick whisper on the other side. "He's scrubbing himself off. Did he barf to the ninth power?"

"Yeah, we just saw it," Troy replies back, "he's in the toilets you said?"

"Affirmative," Frank replies, still whispering low. Troy puts the volume up. "Was he trying to court a lass when he expunged the contents of his stomach?"

I get up with the gang as we head on out of the party, and take hold of the phone. "Man, we haven't got time for all this. Wait. You're in bathroom too? Hasn't he seen you by now?" I ask.

"We're in the stalls," he replies. "Rodney, Steve, Carl and me."

Troy edges towards his phone. "You guys coordinate your dookies like girls do?" asks Troy, looking back at Maddie.

"Not really," Frank replies. "We took out some time to plan our big Atomic Flush experiment. To see that if every toilet in the school is flushed at precisely the same time, an earthquake will happen and make the entire school jump in the air. We we're going to finalize with Bradley before he switched schools on us to got to Thad high, so—"

Troy turns off his phone to Frank still talking. "Enough of that. Where is it?" Troy asks, looking around the hallway.

We move towards the boy's bathroom and stand on the other side. I put my ear to the door.

Wylie looks over at Maddie whose standing beside me. "You're not falling back, Maddie?" Wylie asks her.

"I've had an impromptu brain surgery last week. I think I can handle a few of those sinks boys stand up and takes slashes in," she replies.

"Urinals?" Troy asks.

"Yep, that's the one," Maddie replies.

"Shush!" I whisper-shout.

"Who's there?" Chucko asks, from inside the bathroom.

We hear footsteps. Chucko opens the door to us. We stand in front of him, blocking his exit. Wylie crosses his arms. Maddie wiggles her fingers at him. Troy is leaning on the side of the door hinges. He lifts his head up dramatically with a big wide smile.

"Gotcha bitch!" Troy says, grabbing on to Chucko by his shirt.

* * *

Chucko's tied down on a chair. We bought him into one of the darkest rooms we could find in the school. A supply room. Its filled with 98th Street High tiger memorabilia and stuff.

I pull a dingy light. It shines down on him. "Now Chucko, this can go one or two ways. We can make this easy for you or—" I start.

Troy moves in. "Or you'll get mollywhopped, till you're squealing and begging for me to stop!"

Chucko sighs. "I'm so scared."

"Yeah, that's right," I say, even though Chucko sounds unconvinced. "So why don'tcha spill about those strategies you're hogging up, so we can all get out of here in one piece."

Chucko laughs. "You're just mad cause I'm the best. Undefeated. Top of the totem pole. King."

"You Chucko, don't deserve to be the king of the mountaintop. I am the king of the mountaintop! I reign supreme over everyone in school!" I argue.

"This is 98th Street, dingus," he replies.

"98th Street! 3rd Street! gazillion-th Street! Or any other school! I am the golden child of anywhere. I reign supreme. I! I—!" I go, getting up in his face.

Troy pulls me away from Chucko. "Cool your breeches, Vince. Sit on top of a ice pop or something," says Troy. He moves over to Chucko. "I'll make him talk. One way or another."

"What are you talking about?" Chucko asks.

"Shut up!" Troy goes. "Before I bring you back to the bathroom and give you a swirly!" Troy smiles measuring his distance. "Yeah. Yeeeah, that's right. I'll make a little girl outta you yet."

Troy motions towards Chucko and stops. He walks from side to side. Chucko follows him with his eyes on him, trailing him until he gives up and looks away. While Chucko looks away, Troy gives him an unsuspecting Jap slap across the face. It leaves a blushed red mark on Chucko's face.

"Hey!" Chucko yells. "What the hell?"

Wylie laughs and rolls up his sleeves. Troy pushes Wylie back.

"No," Troy goes, taking his time, stretching his fingers out. "He's mine."

"So Chucko," I say, letting Troy have his space to taunt him. "You ready to talk yet?"

Chucko frowns hard at me. "What do you think?" he goes.

"Aiight," I reply.

I signal to Troy.

Troy gives Chucko a Russian door knock straight to the gonads. Chucko lets at a loud groan. Wylie covers his face with his eyes creaking open. Maddie gasps and turns away from it. Damn. I think even Maddie felt that, and she hasn't got any.

Wylie, still holding his face, rolls his eyes towards Troy. "You sure you don't want someone else to try and—?"

"I got this!" Troy yells back at Wylie.

Maddie covers her eyes going over to the door. She walks into the wall a little bit. "I can't watch this," she says, before leaving out the door.

Troy takes it slow as he stares at Chucko. He gives Chucko a severe titty twister. He turns the nipples around and pulls at them hard in different directions.

Chucko laughs at Troy.

Troy pulls at them harder.

"Nothing?" I ask.

"Nope," Chucko replies.

"No worries," Troy says, letting go of him. "I'll rank it up to what I call a Chinese new year."

"A what?" I ask, looking back at Troy.

Troy ignores me and looks down at Chucko. "You see, you called me a camel jockey and my feelings got hurt," Troy says, staring down at Chucko with menace with a crazed smile. "Today's not just St Patrick's day. Today just so happens to share another holiday—"

"The Chinese new year?" Chucko asks.

"Don't interrupt me, Bozo," Troy goes. "No. It's the Nowruz new year. It's what Iranian's celebrate. Chinese new year is when I attach fireworks to spark off your nips. And when I'm done with the Chinese new year and you still don't comply, I'm gonna do a Persian cigar. And you don't wanna know what that is." Chucko goes silent and actually looks worried. "This time I'll make sure you never forget that I'm Persian and not an Arab."

Troy pulls off Chucko's shirt and over his head. He pulls down his pants, until Chucko is left only wearing his boxers.

Maddie comes back into the supply room. "What the heck is this?" she asks, staring at Chucko.

I turn towards her. "You came back," I say.

"Yeah," she says slowly, looking away from the half naked Chucko and back at me. "It's going great with Ashley Q. I might actually get something out of her myself, you know, to help the team out."

Wylie nods. "Good going, Maddie."

Troy is still looking at Chucko's bare chest. "Just stay beautiful, you Jabroni," Troy taunts at him, as he's feeling up Chucko's bare nipples. "I'm gonna give it to you."

Troy leaves through the door and out of the supply room.

Wylie looks stumped for a second. He signals Maddie and I to go in a huddle. "I know we haven't discussed this as a group, but Troy's gay," Wylie whispers, putting his arms over Maddie and I.

"Oh, I know," I reply, walking back slightly, making Wylie put his arms down. "He told me back in middle school. He likes boys and girls, and a lot of other groups actually. He told me there's a word for it too just a while back. He also said you called him that, Maddie, if you can remember?"

"No," Maddie says in a low hush. She looks over at the half naked Chucko. "See, he doesn't want us to torture Chucko, you know—?"

"Because he wants him all to himself," I reply.

Wylie nods at us. "It's so much more comfortable when someone's gay and just open about it," he says.

"Mm hmm, I know," I reply back.

Chucko jumps around on his chair, trying to hear our conversation. "What are you lot chatting about?" asks Chucko.

Maddie turns around at him. "Shut up! You boy toy bondage bitch!"

"Nice," I reply.

"Thank you," Maddie says, smiling. "Cheer leading isn't all bad. The real hero is alliteration—"

Troy comes back in the storage room. He has jumper cables and a battery with him. He must of got that from the truck. I didn't even know we had those. Troy attaches the cables to Chucko's nipples.

Troy stops with everything in place. "Even if we got what we wanted from you, I'd still do this," he says.

"Screw you, Jasmine!" Chucko jeers.

Troy turns on the electricity. The whole room glows white and black. Flashes of electric bolts of lightning. Chucko's hair straightens out. Sparks flare off of him.

Troy stops.

Chucko lowers his head.

"Now," starts Troy, unclipping the jumper cables off of his nipples. "You know what a Guantanamo Geronimo is?"

Chucko is too exhausted to reply.

Troy connects the jumper cables to his nuts this time. "Anybody wanna say one, two, three, go?" he asks.

Maddie lets out a gasp. She heads to the door again. "I think I'll just go."

Maddie leaves again.

"Please stop!" Chucko shouts out in desperation. "Okay! I'll talk!"

I stand in front of him. "One more time, Chucko," I sigh. "What is your team's strategy? And why do you win every single game?"

Chucko glares at Troy, then back at me. "Our tactics are nothing special."

Troy plays with the jumper cables and makes them spark.

"Let me finish!" Chucko goes. "What I'm trying to say is, your formation ain't all bad, all right? With a few exceptions, we sorta have favors with the referees."

Wylie looks confused. "Favors?"

I stare back at Chucko. "What kind of favors?" I ask him.

"We cheat, okay?" Chucko replies. "Principle Prickly's a sore loser. So any time it might seem like we're gonna lose, the referee puts decisions against the opposition. We can't lose."

That is true. Principle Prickly's brother, um, Principle Prickly has always been competitive. Both of them are really. I've heard the nicer Principle Prickly's now in a middle school and not in Third Street anymore. Seems like his sibling's one-upped him by being a high school Principle of this dump.

Wylie puts his hand up. "Uh, we've beat you once and drawn with you."

Chucko spits on to the floor. "Well, yeah. Thaddeus T Third is the only one to turn it down because of his morals and crap. He's practically wealthy as hell already. Your Principle is actually pretty cool." Chucko pauses. "Now let me out of here!"

Maddie rushes back into the room. She blocks the door with her arms. "Let's go! Right now!" she hollers at us.

"What are you talking about?" I ask her.

"I tried to make out with Ashley Q but she wasn't haven't it," Maddie explains in a frantic rush. "Then I thought telling her what school I go to would help. Turns out they all still hate our guts."

"Maddie?" Wylie moans.

"I panicked!" Maddie cries. "We only got a little bit of time until they realize where I ran to."

Wait.

I stop still.

"You telling us you lead them here?" I ask.

The door starts to get knocked with hard knuckles. There's loud shouting coming from the other side. Chucko lets out a grin. Blood trickling from his teeth. I hold the door handle. I hold my breath and open it. There's a whole bunch of 98th street high school guys. Ashley Q in the front.

"Sup?" I ask.

"Not much," Ashley Q replies.

"Vince!" says Cheay, adjusting his jet black glasses. "The hell you lot doing here?"

They haven't noticed Chucko tied up on the chair further inside yet. Maddie, Wylie, Troy and I look at each other.

Troy touches each of our shoulders casually. He pats on his battery box with his jumper cables tied around it. "This has been fun and all, but we have to go," he goes, leaving the room passed the confused 98th streeters.

I slide passed them, as Maddie and Wylie follow me.

Chucko's exposed. "What are you idiots doing?" Chucko shouts. "Get after them!"

We switch up and run.

The 98th street guys are unsure whether to run after us or help Chucko. We run down the hallway. We slide across each corner we go through. It's the dead of night. Maddie turns on her phone and shines a torch light ahead of us. The others gain on us. We jump out of the school.

Chucko comes out, taking the tied ropes off of himself. We're a good distance away from the school. Troy stops still.

"Allah u Akbar, bitch!" Troy shouts, stretching his arms out in front of Chucko and his cronies.

The school explodes. Water rushes out of the roof. The windows shatter. The school turns into a gigantic fire hydrant. Water flows out on to the steps. Not only did we escape the 98th street cronies, but we got out just in time of a spontaneous hurricane. The pale kids. Their atomic flush experiment. That's what just happened.

Maddie and Wylie make it back to the truck. Troy and I enjoy the scenes. Everything's ended in a flurry. Chucko and his teammates are trying to grasp on to what the heck is going on.

I pant with my hands on my knees as I laugh beside Troy. I totally get why Troy's my best friend. He kills me.

"V?" asks Troy, not turning around as he puts his arms slowly down.

"Yeah T?" I reply, looking at the water as it keeps flowing out of the school.

"You know how you were wondering where Persians were from, and I said we're from Iran?"

"Yeah?"

"And Americans pronounce it I ran, like it's two words, like i and cell?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's do the plural present tense of that!" Troy goes, just before switching back around, sprinting passed me.

"Huh? What are you—?"

I look back at the school and I'm at a good distance still. The 98th street gang couldn't reach me, even if they tried. I'd beat them in a foot race. Easy. Chucko is in the middle of untying the leash of his tiger cub. He's setting it on us. The tiger gallops effortlessly over the water towards me likes it's back in it's natural habitat.

No friggin' way.

I spin around and sprint for the life of me. I feel it gain on me. Everyone's on the truck. Frank has already set the truck and he's driving away. I'm on the road. Maddie, Troy and Wylie stretch their arms at me to reach. I look back. The tiger cub's getting closer. I jump on. I feel a weight on my sneakers that's pulling me backwards. I turn around. The cub's chewed down on my long shoe lace. The guys and Maddie try to haul me on the back of truck. The cub isn't quitting. The cub isn't cute anymore.

Frank drives wildly. The truck weaves side to side fishtailing. The cub is still hanging on.

Maddie yells, "Come on, Vince!" as she tries pulling me up with Wylie and Troy.

"What if we accidentally kill it?" I ask, the cub mauling on my sneaker.

Troy says, "It's a bit late for animal rights."

Wylie tells me to, "Lose the sneaks!"

"Be serious, man," I say. "These are new."

Frank tells us, "Pot hole! Incoming!"

"Sweet!" Troy shouts back at Frank. " Everyone! One big pull after three!" Troy orders, holding me from behind.

Troy countdowns to three. I hold on to my sneaker. The tiger cub is still firmly on. The pothole in the road lifts the car up at exactly the same time as they pull me up. I flick my foot up. The tiger cub flies off with my laces still in it's mouth.

"Ow!" goes Wylie, Troy and Maddie together.

The tiger cub goes higher and higher into the air. The long white lace glides in the sky like a plain rainbow. The little cub disappears into the night like a wishing star.

Maddie eyes haven't left the sky where it hasn't seem to fall down yet and says, "You sent that cub to meet Mufasa in the sky!"

We stay silent for a moment. The four of us sit on the back of the truck together.

"We did all this for nothing," I complain, laying on the side of the truck.

"That's not true," Troy goes, leaning towards me. "I got a new awesome truck. I spent all of St Patrick's day with you guys. I got to see a live tourney. I got a chance to torture Chucko. Making out with the goat wasn't a personal highlight. All in all. Today was a good day."

"Yeah, but if it's not including you though?" I ask.

"Oh," Troy goes, leaning back on the other side of the truck. He looks at Maddie, Wylie and back at me. "Then yeah. We did all this for nothing."

* * *

 **My Clipgoss story has soared** straight through the clouds like where all of our data is kept these days. It's a pep rally storm. We're red now. I mean, everything is red now. It just took the weekend to get all the lockers red, the emblem on the floor changed color, and most probably our kits have got a revamp too. The statue of Thaddeus T Third has been replaced with a bronze warthog. It was all done over Saturday, then. All of it. Thaddeus get's things down fast. The power of the green. It's Sunday afternoon and the school's almost in full attendance. I'm surprised. I mean, it's the same and maybe as important as the Superbowl, but I can't believe people are actually showing us love when they could be at home chilling if they wanted to.

Back to the topic of discussion though. I've seemed to have unintentionally spread Spinelli's Clipgoss around yesterday. Besides this match-up, its all that anyone's talking about. Everyone's with their phones out, looking at that picture. Dunno what the name of the person in the picture is though. Beats me.

Light shines directly in my face. I shield my eyes with my locker's door.

"Hi everybody, I'm Dave Stas, along side me is Jeff Werthing, and welcome to Sunday afternoon football. A special cup match as we get ready to watch some of the best high school players in the Nation showcase their skills in a classic showdown grudge match. The Arkansas Hogs and the Louisiana Tigers. There really are some characters on this years squads aren't there, Jeff?"

"That's right Dave. It does seem like the most flamboyant personalities are right here in Thad High," the other commentator replies. "Vince LaSalle!" he goes, with a deep voice like host's tend to do. "Known as the Golden Child in middle school. He has 15 receiving touchdowns, covered 850 yards with as little as only two fumbles. His nickname may be the golden child in middle school, but in Thad High he'll have to help clutch the golden boot cup."

I turn to the left and right of me. It's two commentators. A black bald guy, calling himself Dave Stas, and some white dude, Jeff Werthing, who has thick dark, probably dyed, black hair. They both have microphones. They're both in suits. They both look like they belong behind a desk in some sports studio, but no, they're annoying me in the middle of the hallway.

Hey! I know them. They're the same guys who were commentating the Magic, the conjuring.

"Hey, you're the same guys at Magic the conjuring," I say at them. They both look at me unsure, and don't say anything. "Remember? Comicoplous yesterday?"

"The Golden child," says the one named Dave. "Will his eagerness to run ahead of the ball be his downfall? Or will his pressure to perform make him pull out of the game all together?"

"Nothing convinces me, Dave. Not like the Louisiana Tigers pass rusher, I think the Golden child's pull out games strong," Jeff replies back.

"Jeff," says Dave, putting his microphone down. "I—I know what you mean. You can't say that. This is a family broadcast."

I look at the camera. I look at the commentators. I slam my locker shut and move away from those two. Spinelli is leaning on the side on her phone.

"Spinelli!" I call her, making her look up at me. "Did you see the Clipgoss story?"

"Uh, yeah," she replies, showing her phone to me. "How could I not see it? Thanks to you, we might actually catch this guy now."

"What guy?"

"You're kidding me, right? James Stone. The spy who pretended to be one of us in Third Street and then tried to get us in the biggest trouble ever, just recently?"

"Soz," I apologize. "Yeah, him. I blanked out a bit."

"Look, you did amazing anyway," replies Spinelli, scuffing her phone in her hat. She comforts my arm. "Good luck out there, man. The gang and I will be rooting for ya."

Spinelli makes her way through the pep rally of teenagers on drums, cheerleaders and Menlo in his brand new red mascot outfit.

"You like my little input, Vince?"

I turn around. It's Kumiko from the tech kids.

"That was you who buffed up the image of James Stone to make it crystal clear," I say.

"It shouldn't really be a surprise, though," Kumiko replies. "You can trust the tech kids and I to fix anything. He was that weird janitor. We did some digging, and not only are the B.O.E going loopy over letting this actor guy slip up, but the superintendent is getting a lot more than he bargained for. Hopefully our TJ will come back now—"

"And comeback he shall!" Jeff interrupts, with his microphone echoing his words. "The golden boot cup match is not the only event causing commotion."

"The fascinating blurred image that has circled around the school has stirred up an already heated up proceeding," Dave replies. "Free TJ seems to be back on the cards."

I turn at the two commentator guys. "How do you lot know all this?" I ask them.

The commentators ignore me again with a pause, look back at the camera, and carry on. "Maybe this James Stone individual will make an appearance. He does look pretty menacing and crazy in this photo."

A girl bombards me with a hug. I can just tell who it is from her fragrance. It's Ashley B.

"Hey babe," she says, moving back to look at me, holding my hands.

"Hey," I reply back.

Ashley B screws her eyebrows at me. "You're not actually nervous are you?"

"Nah. No way."

"And nervous he should be," continues Dave. "Louisiana Tigers are notably undefeated and come at us today with a seamless record that can not only be feared but admired."

"Yes," replies Jeff. "Will the Golden child hide his true feelings to his cheerleader counterpart?"

The commentators stop and look at us. Ashley and I look at each other confused.

Ashley blinks looking back at me. "Okay," she starts. "Um, I just wanna say, you'll win today. I know you will. I'm not gonna ask about yesterday. I trust you. Just, don't blow it." I look back at her. "I mean, it's totally okay if you do, just don't go crazy and make this more than just a game, okay? Those Tigers are jerks. I want my BF in one piece."

"Obvi," I sigh. "Yeah."

"Yeah" Dave goes, imitating my sigh. "And that's why promises are made to be broken."

"Uh-huh!" Jeff replies. "Broken rib cages, legs, arms, teeth and concussion fatalities are all expected folks, on today's HFL showdown!"

"Will you guys, like, bug?" Ashley shouts.

Ashley slaps the camera away from us. The commentators give up. Dave twiddles his mic and swings it around his fingers. Jeff, the one with jet black hair, drops his mic and just walks off.

* * *

It's the second quarter of our match. It's our fourth down. And we're down 8-3. We're in play crouched down as we square off again. Chucko, his teams wide receiver, doesn't look half stressed, considering Wylie almost poisoned him yesterday. He mumbles something to one of his team mates.

Troy does his usual formation. We brake off our next play. The invisible scrimmage line the only thing containing us. We block each other out. I run forward a little. Troy looks for me. He gets hit on his side and drops the ball. I get smashed on my ribs. My whole body whiplashes. A cheap shot. Koreo, their largest player, gets off me.

The friggin' hurt.

Herk lifts me up by yanking me up from my arm. I head to the side of the pitch. I take off my helmet. My heads finally stopped ringing. I squeeze some energy drink down and then pour water over my head. The afternoon sun turns to early night. The student's phones light up on the bleachers like fireflies. I notice Spinelli along with Gretchen, Molly, Geoffrey, Mikey and Gus. The commentators are there sitting on the podium desk by the field. I catch eyes with Jeff Werthing. The Clipgoss story comes to mind. Those two guys seem to know so much about us.

"This battle for Golden boot gives the winners all the bragging rights," Dave says into the camera.

"The incident including 98th street High school getting flooded the night before has not effected the game thus far," Jeff replies. He looks dead eyes on me. "Maybe the Golden child should stop flooding the trending topics, and rather finish what he started and play fire with fire."

I step back on to the field.

We go to our next play. We set off and go in different directions. Wylie ignores our game plan. He bum rushes Jocko right in the chest and on to the ground. The crowd go crazy. The referee blows his whistle. Wylie gets up. The referee gives Wylie a timeout. Jocko is still layed down on the grass. Two people with a stretcher get on to the field. Chucko goes over and pushes Wylie as he tries to make his way off the field. Troy gets in the middle and has a scuffle with Chucko. Now the rest of the team joins in. The referee blows like mad at all of us. Jocko gets picked up and out of the game, but the fight causes Jocko to fall off the stretcher again. It's calamitous, for real.

The referee calls for timeout for all of us. I push both teams off each other as we trudge back off the field. The referee may not a be bribed phony and a cheat like Chucko mentioned yesterday, but it doesn't stop my team from playing like idiots out there. The commentators are near us now as we go off together.

"Instant replay on that!" Jeff says, sitting on his outdoor desk next to Dave, the other commentator.

"I know Wylie Mathers is the wild card of the Hogs, but this is ridiculous!" Dave replies. "The referee has given him timeout as well as the entire two teams."

"That was harsh," Jeff goes. "More harsher than calling a retarded kid out for double dribble. What did he expect?"

"Insensitive and entirely wrong sport there, Jeff," Dave replies. "But I guess it was the right idea from Mathers. It buys his team some time."

"Now a word from our sponsors. Martian piss soda. One alien's waste is another man's taste."

"Vince?"

Someone beside me, is calling me. It's Troy.

"Huh?" I ask turning around.

Troy slaps me on my helmet. I take it off. I lay my helmet on the grass in front of my team mates. It glows out in light blue. The helmet hologram shows the plays we've done so far.

Coach Swarzenburger studies the hologram. "Good defense covering, Quinlan," Coach says. "We need more discipline when we make these plays."

Wylie roughly ruffles his hair. "Yeah but, you saw what they did to Vince."

Coach looks at the helmet hologram and back at us all. "We change it up," says Coach. He motions for me to turn my hologram off. He still looks at me. "I do not care for this fighting you boys have. This is football. Aggression is good. But LaSalle, you are bait to them. Take it safe. Go on the bench."

"Take it safe and go on the bench?" I ask.

What? This is not happening. He has to be joking, right?

"We don't need you right now, you can sit this one out," Coach continues.

"Sit this one out?"

"That's right," Coach orders, with his annoying accent pounding into my head. "Yes."

"Oh," I reply. I pause. This Russian goof is serious. "I've kept cool for as long as I can, but now I will unleash my rage out on you like the charge of a gazillion volts!" I shout out at him. "You wretched lame! Throw hands if you doubt me! Sit it out? Like, what? I've kicked balls out of the stratosphere before, man! Offensive tackle! Center! Receiver! Linebacker! It don't matter! I can't just sit it out! I am always that kid chosen first! I am the chosen child! The golden child! I'm off the leash and my kicking range knows no bounds!"

I huff out load breathing heavily. Everyone's silent. Shocked eyes are locked on to me. I blanked out a bit. I'm all into Coach's personal space. Coach stares down at me. His face stern and ready to break my head open like a melon.

"So, erm," I say, patting Coach on his chest as I move away from him. "This seat good?" I ask, pointing at a space on the bench. "This one right here? Yeah? Cool."

* * *

On the field, its a tie. Third quarter. 13-13. No one is progressing. No one's gaining any points. Both of the teams are cancelling themselves out. I'm left on the bench watching like a spectator while I have to hear these two dunder heads commentate.

"They're just running around aimlessly," says Jeff, at the game. "They're sharing the spoils worse than a pink eye party!"

"It's Pandemonium!" Dave states.

"What? How?" Jeff replies.

That Jeff guy's right. The match is so boring that studying sounds tempting at this point.

"No, literally, it's Panda-monium 4 in theaters next weekend," Dave says. "The movie everyone's talking about. Pandas cuddly carnivorous giants of the Bamboo Forest. When extinction is on the cards, they're taking us, all, with them. Midnight screenings on Fright Night Friday."

Oh yeah. Panda-monuim 4. I forgot about that film. Maybe because every time I hear about that film I'm planning to sneak into the theater or lie to my mom and dad that I'm in the library or something.

It's timeout.

The team comes back to the coaching area. Everyone tries to get comfortable.

Troy takes off his helmet. "Okay Douche-halls! Good fight back!" Troy starts, clapping at us. "We got back to a draw, but that's all we're doing. We've been jinxing each other out for the last eight downs. Maybe we should keep at it. A draw is technically not a loss."

I get up from the bench. "A draw's worse than losing," I say.

A card falls out of my pocket. I pick it up. It's a Magic the conjuring card. They're Chad's. I must've kept them in my pocket since yesterday. Troy and my teammates are still debating about strategies. I'm not computing. I stare closer at the cards. They have funny names but they're so interesting. They're like baseball cards but a trillion times triller. Land cards. Spell cards. Creature Cards. It has all their magic stats, plus, an interesting fact you may not know about the creature. Something Chucko and his cronies would no nothing about.

Herk moans saying, "They know exactly what we're going to do every time!"

"What you want me to do?" Troy argues back. "Give us some weird code names so that they can't predict our plays?"

I turn at Troy. "How about, Bountiful Bunny?"

"Dude? What?" Troy asks.

Wylie laughs. "I think that last tackle rattled his brain."

"No, man," I reply, taking out the magic card. "Bountiful Bunny. The magic card."

My teammates all look strangely at me. They seem too tired to argue.

"Okay guys, hear me out," I start, spreading out the cards in my hands. "If Magic the conjuring cards have stats like players, why can't we use them for our plays?"

Troy takes the bountiful bunny card. Coach takes a card out. The other eleven players all take a card.

Troy turns his card around. "This is friggin' weird coming from you, dude. But your brother did trounce his opponent with this card and won the championship."

Coach coughs. "Won the championship?" he asks out loud. "LaSalle, Morteza, my niece played this monster game in my old country." He looks at me. "You're brother the champion?"

I nod.

"Guys?" Marvin says, from the other standing eleven. "One problem. We don't know how to play Magic?"

"We have someone that can," I say, turning my head at Wylie.

Wylie can play. He proved it yesterday. If he can learn how top play Magic as quick as he did, imagine what we could pick up right now in this timeout.

"Wow," Wylie goes, picking up a card like it has a godly spirit to it. "Okay. Now, does everyone agree that they don't get bummed out with the card they get paired with?"

We all nod.

We get down to it. Wylie sets down the cards on the grass. Troy assigns us all as a creature. I get the Shredding Centaur card, Herk is the Charming Chihuahua and Troy is the Bountiful Bunny. Our opponents are creatures too. Chucko's the Ceremonial Slug, Koreo is the Hypnotic Hippo and Cheay is the Blind Buffalo. Wylie is the wizard. The football is the mana. The boot cup is the Special Chalice. Our formation is our duel.

Wylie looks back up at me. "We're gonna need you for the offense, Vince." He shudders back at Coach. "If that's okay with you."

Couch walks up to me as he treads carefully over the magic cards. "Crush them," he says, cherishing his card in his hand.

I smile. I go back on the field with the team.

We go against the other team in our play.

"Okay!" Troy shouts. "Creatures! Charming Chihuahua take Ceremonial Slug! Shredding Centaur you hoof it! Get ready for the Mana! Leggo!"

"Huh?" goes Chucko and his teammates.

98th Street stand up straight looking confused.

We begin anyway, catching them off guard. I catch the ball. I get tackled after twenty yards. We make another down. I slap hands with my teammates with Chucko's team arguing amongst themselves.

"You see that?" I hear Dave say from the commentator desk. "LaSalle has changed up his team mates to Magic, the conjuring creatures. He's gone for the unconventional here!"

"You don't say," Jeff replies. "The jocks and nerds alliance are more unconventional than saying it was your family member that ate your homework."

We go in a combat phase in our scrimmages. Chucko's team don't know what hit them. We still go back and forth with the points. Each play when we set up the pick, Wylie gives us orders that no other person will understand unless they know Magic. The tigers use their own tactics and get the game balanced again.

It's the last play. The tigers are up by two points. It's nine seconds left. We run and do are skills attributed as the creatures. The Shredding Centaur senses danger and rushes with plus 80 mana.

My heart's pumping. I can sense and feel everyone in the crowd. I can even hear those two commentators. It's like all my thoughts have escaped from my body.

"Morteza is gonna need a Hail Mary!" Dave, the commentator, shouts. "Throws it for the sake of it!" I run. I don't even look back to see where Troy is gonna throw it. I trust him as the Bountiful Bunny to find me. I'm not getting tracked as Herk and other team mates block out the opponents. I reach the end zone. I feel the ball come near me from the night sky. With my hand out I feel myself snatch it from the air. "The golden child catches it!"

"Touchdown!" Jeff Sterling shouts. Time reaches zero on the clock. I made the best catch I've ever done. I bounce the ball pig skin on the grass as the team run over to me. The 98th Street team hold their heads in defeat. The school pep rally start over again. We all celebrate. "He caught that ball better than a bunch of butter face bride maids catching a bouquet!"

"Hogs win in the dying seconds!" Dave goes. "Oh, what match! What a game! What a final! This is high school football! You better believe it!"

My teammates and I are in a group hug. We break away from it and run around the field. Wylie goes on my shoulders. He signals to the crowd to do a Mexican wave. Wylie makes me giddy up as he's trying to pour energy drink over Coach, but Coach pushes it back making it fall all over Herk who was just a bystander. Herk doesn't seem to care. He rips his shirt off and swings it around his head. He has another tat, but this time instead of a Q on his bottom lip it's the Warthog tatted on his shoulder. I dump Wylie off of me. The cheerleaders all do their routines. Troy and I dance together with sharp dabbing nods with our forearms to our foreheads. On the PA system they play a classic R' n B song. We start to do the running man dance in front of each other. Spinelli's come out of nowhere. She records us on her phone, with a big smile as she laughs out loud. Wylie takes off his helmet and the rest of his clothes, as he has the redman suit underneath, a full-body red lycra suit.

We're acting like we've never won a game before.

It's the ceremony time. Chucko and his teammates get their loser medals. We don't shake hands. They walk off back inside, and don't say a word to us. It's our turn. We take our steps up the podium in the middle of the pitch. Troy holds up the golden boot as everyone cheers. It's a 4 feet tall cup, molded out of 24 karat gold and resembles the outline of the states of Arkansas and Louisiana connected. That's what gives it that boot shape. It has Arkansas Hogs engraved on it on the top. It's official. Troy counts down from three and raises the cup. We cheer out. The whole field erupts in cheers. Confetti falls around us all. Herk, Wylie and I take turns raising the cup. Wylie and Herk spray soda bombs over everyone.

I step away. No ones coming up to me anymore. I finally have a break from everyone. The scenes are epic. Everyone's so happy.

I'm alone. There's Ashley B under the bleachers. I walk up to her. I don't know what to do. I can't down play what I really feel about her. I'm supposed to have dump her since Saturday. The gang and I agreed that I would next time I'm with her.

"Ashley," I say to her.

She hugs me. We're closed off from everyone.

"Look, Ashley," I start.

I can't do this can I? She's ecstatic. So happy and stuff. I mean, if I were to dump her right now, it couldn't crush her that much. Could it?

"Wait," she says, digging into her skirt pocket. "I've got something for you."

She gives me two pieces printed paper. I examine them closer. What the—? These are Boston Pagan's tickets. Not just any other tickets.

"Hey, these are front row! Sweat-catching seats!" I say, examining the tickets closer.

"So, what were you gonna tell me?" Ashley B asks.

Ashley looks back at me. How can I dump her now? She's so awesome-awesome. I'm not into her as much as she is with me, but she's amazing. It gets annoying with her always wanting to spend time with me but what excuse is that? She showed my dad up. She went into her own pocket to help the team's reckless scheme. And the kiss. Our kiss. I haven't got it out of my mind yet.

I pause. "I, um, I didn't see Maddie out there with you lot," I say.

"Maddie doesn't want to be a cheerleader anymore," Ashley replies, looking back up at me.

"I bet you're the leader now," I guess.

"Yeah! How'd you know?" she asks.

"A hunch."

Ashley moves in for a kiss. We smooch. She lets go and moves back to the rally. I peel away and walk passed it all. Everyone wanting my attention and for me to smile back in a selfie with them.

It's odd. I was so sure I was going to go for Gretchen as a girlfriend after this. Ashley B doesn't deserve a half asked boyfriend. She deserves more. I can learn to love her, already she's making it easier for me to. She just gives, gives, gives and it shows. I don't know what love is supposed to feel like. Maybe this is it.

I head on out of the field to track.

Speaking of girlfriends. Or a friend who is a girl. Gretchen. She's training up on track, taking orders from Geoffrey. Has she heard my thoughts, trying to make me regret not dumping Ashley B?

I walk towards them two.

**[PLAY SONG "Ghost Town DJ's - My Boo" AT THIS POINT]**


	12. Teacher was a rolling stone

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 11

Gretchen POV

* * *

 _[And now, Recess. Today's episode, Teacher was a rolling Stone]_

 _["Act one: Early bird gets the diploma"]_

 **"Let's do it again!** From the top! **"** Geoffrey shouts, spitting on the grass nearby the track as he stops the timer on his phone. "Gretchen! You're gonna have to pick it up if you're gonna beat your personal best!"

I warm up my shoulders and my arms. The floodlights illuminate the track. If I can exert my body to breaking point then that should theoretically improve my stamina. Scientifically speaking. Although, I haven't used my own self as the guinea pig of my experiments since Halloween. And look how badly _that_ turned out.

"When I asked you to act as my personal _timer_ I didn't expect you to get in the role, as my personal _trainer,_ instead," I say, stretching my back and shoulders.

"That's loser talk I'm hearing," Geoffrey snaps back like a coach. "Drop down and give me five."

I sigh. I go down in the press up position. Geoffrey puts his hand down at me. He smiles.

"Sorry," Geoffrey starts. "Can I actually borrow five bucks? I'll pay you back tomorrow."

I feel inside my pocket and take out a note. A wave of an aura hits me. I stop with my hand half way. James Stone's advice about keeping money to yourself when you can scientifically use it better comes back in the memory. I give Geoffrey the money. I don't wanna take James' advice anymore if I can help it. I start to do press ups. Girly ones on the knees. I've got to start somewhere.

I put my head down. Geoffrey senses I'm about to run and gets his timer ready. I set myself and run. At least, I try to. I know my form is all over the place and my arms are too static. I don't even bother go passed the 100 meter finish line this time.

"What's all this?" Vince asks, coming through in his football gear, his helmet in hand, and his cleats clicking on the track.

Geoffrey turns towards Vince. "I'm coaching Gretchen on her stamina. Mikey's here too," he says, pointing at the white seats around the track.

Mikey gives a little wave at Vince as he acknowledges him back.

"I've been trying to experiment on my own body's physical limits," I explain to Vince. "It's a pretty dumb idea, I can't run quite as effortlessly as you can."

"What?" Vince goes. "Don't be loony, Gretch. This is awesome. It's just. You maybe could benefit on not looking so stiff. You can never know when running long distances can be so important. Let me help you."

Vince guides me on how to strut my arms as I swing them while I'm running. He shows his techniques. He get's closer to me. He puts his arms on my waist. I move away.

"I'm sorry," says Vince, stepping back as I reject him. "I'm sorta taught to be all touchy feel-y in sports."

"No, it's okay," I say.

I'm always weird with people touching me. I don't like it. I guess it is necessary, and I do trust Vince. Also he does have a girlfriend, Ashley B, so it's unlikely he's trying to just touch me for no reason. He stops. He can just show me how to do it verbally.

"You ready now?" Vince asks, ready to manually help me again.

I thought he wasn't gonna do this again.

"Um, yeah," I reply.

Vince holds me by the waist. "Good form starts with the pelvis and the glutes," he says. "So run normally." He lets go. I do. He spots what I did wrong. "You have to wiggle more in motion. I know it's gonna sound cliché for me to say this, but it's _all in the hips_." I move my hips in a circle with his hands on them. "Hows that?"

I look back at Vince whose still holding me. "Erm, better," I reply. "I think."

Vince lets go really quickly. "Yeah so. Yeah. Now you can flow more blood down to your legs and be more flexible, and stuff," he says in a rush.

Geoffrey looks at me and then Vince. " _Yeah and stuff,_ " says Geoffrey, mimicking Vince as he's squinting his eyes between us.

President CJ Rottweiler approaches us with her two bodyguard aides. I'm so glad she was made president. Anyone would have been a better fit than the Republican stylings of Emil Brizanka, or Joey Finestock, whatever he's referred to nowadays.

"Gretchen," says President CJ Rottweiler, parting her red ginger hair. "Can I have word with you?"

"Sure," I reply.

"In private?" she emphasizes.

Vince looks at President CJ, me, then the others. "Geoffrey, dude! Mikey! Let's bounce!" he says, rounding them two together. He turns back at me. "Yo Gretchen. Keep at it. You'll do great, in, uh, whatever you're doing."

I just stare at Vince. He looks back at me. He waits for me to say something. Everyone is. It's a bit maladroit as nothing comes out of my mouth. I can't speak.

Vince walks off with Geoffrey and Mikey.

"Thanks!" I reply, as Vince is almost out of sight as he fades into the night.

How dumb am I?

One of President CJ's aides looks familiar under his shades. "Sam?" I ask one of them.

"Hey," one of her bodyguards replies.

It _is_ Sam, formally, Digger Sam. He's in a suit just like the other aide. He's been quite quiet this year. I think considering he used to hang out with Digger Dave and have him bossing him around frequently, he's resorting to follow the President around instead.

We walk away from the track and field. The President takes me inside of the school. We go down the hallway. People from around school try to engage her in conversation. She answers questions quickly with one or two answers. They ask her about the foreign affairs with the tech kids. A few questions on the money being used for the UN and the creative classes like art. She seems to answer questions with a quick and earnest democratic stanza.

She reaches the girl's bathroom. "Let's discuss this in private, secure the area please," she says to her two body guards.

I thought President CJ wanted a private meeting with me in her Oval office, but, it's the girl's bathroom.

Sam looks sickened. "But, Miss President," Sam says, readjusting his ear piece.

" _Nu-uh,"_ the other body guard goes, shaking his head. _"_ We're not going in _there_."

"Stop being babies," President CJ says. She turns back at me. "Boys, right?"

The two bodyguards sigh and walk inside. They make themselves heard at first. They check the room for us. Searching around the stalls, and looking for any wires or anything else that can compromise our meeting.

"It's not exactly an executive office, but it'll have to do," President CJ sighs, as she crosses her arms.

"Area is secure president," Sam says.

The body guards argue amongst themselves. They're making such a fuss. I don't know what they're saying. It looks like they're going to play rock, paper airplanes, scissors, origami with each other. That game Mr Dude and Vince made up has seem to catch on and evolve. It's like the old age game where paper beats rock and so on, but origami beats paper. Origami shapes can be revealed instead of rock in disguise. If they both draw paper with paper, then they have a paper airplane race. If they both draw scissors, then the first to make origami scissors that can cut through paper wins. If they draw rock with rock then it's an origami duel to make the best folding. There is no draw or best out of three. That's what makes the game so appealing to everyone.

Sam shoots rock. The other bodyguard shoots out paper.

"Ha! I win!" Sam says.

"How?" the other bodyguard goes.

"Origami beats paper!" says Sam, slowly opening up his fist to reveal an origami of a duck.

"Origami _is_ paper," says the other bodyguard. "That shouldn't make sense."

"Preach it to the glee club, pal-y," Sam says, leaving the room to reach the other side of the door.

The bodyguard who lost fixes up his lapel and stands on the other side of the bathroom door facing CJ and I.

The president sighs and rolls her eyes. "It's so hard to find good helpers these days."

"That's okay, President CJ," I reply back. "What was the urgent matter at hand?"

CJ studies her watch. "Oh right," she says, walking slowly through the bathroom. She opens up the sink's faucet all the way. She turns back around at me. "We don't have much time. What I'm about to tell you Gretchen, is very classified intelligence. What I'm about to say _can not_ leave this room." She stops to take in a deep breath. "So, Fingers said, that Jimmy said, that Drake' s favorite-worst friend's, girlfriend's sister said that there's _totally_ a plot being devised against this high school. A scheme the size that Arkansas has never seen before."

Spinelli walks into the girl's bathroom. She barges the guard blocking the other side and waltzes into a stall. Sam runs back inside. His tie is tightened, as evidence of him being throttled.

"I tried to stop her!" Sam goes.

President CJ smiles at me. The body guards look shaken. They look semi professional with their suits, but I don't think they've had to fight off any resistance yet. We stand and wait for Spinelli to finish. The toilet flushes. Spinelli walks out just taking her time as she washes her hands. She fixes her hair in the mirror. She looks back at us and finally notices me. Her eyes widen with their usual radiance.

"Gretchen!" she greets at me. She takes out some tissue to dab her hands dry with, I think. She squeezes some more soap into it, rolls it up into a ball and throws it up at the ceiling. It sticks to it. She uses the dryer for her hands. "Just the genius I'm looking for. All of us are gonna give Thad a piece of our mind."

CJ looks at her watch again. "We should have the classroom vacant now," she says, leading us out of the bathroom.

We walk to social studies. The bodyguards try to escort the way. Miss Rosemary is just closing her door shut.

"Hello sunshines," Miss Rosemary greets us all, as she reopens the door. "You came just in time. I have to be off."

We walk in to the empty classroom as Miss Rosemary leaves. There is a lot of scribbles and work on the board, from previous classes that's yet to be wiped off yet. Spinelli has come and joined us. I guess she's part of the meeting now. CJ tells the bodyguards to close the blinds. It's already night outside. The room gets almost pitch black.

"Hey Gretch," Spinelli says, nudging me on my side. "Peep this."

I look back at the board.

"Intriguing!" I gasp.

The scribbles have vanished. Invisible chalk marking is revealed. It glows up on the board. It's shining out in bright yellow and pink.

"Here's me thinking TJ's gift for you was stupid," says Spinelli to CJ.

I examine what's written. It has information of TJ's case on juvie, the board of education, lines linking times, dates and evidence supporting that TJ is very much innocent.

CJ turns around. "I know, Spinelli," she says. She looks back at us both. "I believe you guys. TJ didn't do it. The attack against the school was a controlled demolition."

"I knew it!" Spinelli goes. "It's a conspiracy, ain't it?"

"You just have to look at the evidence," CJ continues. "The B.O.E swat team came out of nowhere just seconds after the bomb went off to arrest TJ. Then the board of ed are getting money just days after TJ's incarcerated. Now there's cameras everywhere in school now. You can't pick your nose without it being recorded."

I ask, "So in other words the B.O.E are gonna spy on us?"

"I'm afraid it's already started," she replies. "Every app and text communication has been read by outside parties. The students are losing their privacy and it's what the B.O.E wanted all along. Now, Gretchen. I need you to do something. What I want you to do is, go out with, break up, and go out again with Bradley."

I stay silent.

" _Pfft!_ " Spinelli blows out, in a chuckle. "Hows that gonna help?"

I ask, "Are you proposing that we increase the school's social drama by having a roller coaster relationship to disguise our true intentions of going to war against the B.O.E?"

The bodyguard by the side of the room looks down from his black shade glasses at me.

Sam comes out from the other side of the door. "Wow, Gretchen," he says in shock.

CJ beams at me. "I knew you'd get it," she says. "It's all propaganda politics mostly. And gossip."

"I don't really wanna hurt, Bradley," I say.

"Don't be silly," she says, waving a hand. "I've already briefed him. He knows. These next few weeks are gonna be critical on finding James Stone once and for all. That Vince Clipgloss was genius. Everybody in school knows now and it's got the B.O.E's attention. They can't honestly tell which student is on to them right now. But I fear that if they know our true intentions of going to war against them, then the CCTV mess will get even worse." She pauses on Spinelli and I. "Any questions?"

We shake our heads. CJ wipes the information off the board.

I'll kill three birds with one stone. If the whole school appears to be concerned about Bradley and my relationship it could conceal our true intentions. It could send the B.O.E on some time-consuming wild-goose chase. The gang and I could have freedom to point out James Stone from the faculty, TJ can come back, then the uniforms and security should be put to a stop.

"Actually, just one," Spinelli asks. She puts her hand out to what CJ's holding. "Can I?"

"Go nuts," CJ says, handing her over the invisible writing chalk.

Spinelli draws something silly on the board. It's similar to the art she used to do on the blacktop at Third street.

CJ takes me to the side. "We don't want James Stone to be scared off again," she explains. I nod back. "Good luck and goddess speed."

I wait for Spinelli to finish up her drawing. I leave with her to Principle Third's office. I knock carefully on his door. Without a response Spinelli charges inside.

"Sir!" Spinelli goes, reaching his desk. Third looks away from his paper work. "Everything going down in this school is the higher ups trying to take over. Tell em', Gretch."

"Yes," I say, as Spinelli nudges me in front of her. "You have to let us take down James Stone and B.O.E before it's too late."

"Too late?" Third asks, arching his eyebrows at us. "You have to stop this nonsense. I expected this from Spinelli, but not _you,_ Gretchen—"

Spinelli clenches her fists. "If you think we're just gonna let our best friend get expelled without a fight, then you have no idea how tight our friendship is," she says.

"You two really sure about this?" Thirds asks.

Spinelli and I nod back in sequence. Principle Third stops and straightens his mustache. He gets up with his hand behind his back. He contemplates as he looks out of his window.

"Spinelli, go home," Third orders, not looking back at us.

Spinelli huffs and leaves the room with a slam.

Third turns back around. "I'm going to Minnesota on Monday morning and I need someone to come with me as a representative," he says.

"But its like twelve hours away," I reply. "Two hours by plane."

"I'm using my private jet."

"I'm flattered, but this is out of nowhere. I've got class to attend tomorrow."

"Not when you're with me. I think with your intellect, you already know what the entire class module entails. Ingrid has excelled in her year and she's graduating early from X high school. It would mean the world to me if I have someone of your caliber on my side. To set how well our school are trying to reach similar heights too. So what do you say? I think you and my niece will get along famously."

There's a picture on Principal Third's desk of him and his niece.

There's a glint in his eye like he knows something I don't.

Is he helping me?

Either way, the name of this establishment seems like a sign.

* * *

 **The children have to save themselves these days because the parents have no clue.** It's been that way forever. It's a bit inconceivable how my friends and I can keep having these adventures out of the ordinary. I rise from my bed. I smother the face of my Albert Einstein alarm clock. My Galileo app starts rib-biting. It's my new brain training questions being reset, as it's now downloading itself automatically from the app store. My script for Bradley and I self prints from my printer as I retrieve it with a quick swoop. I maneuver through my room, having a look at my failed experiment. Its the right specifications. Everything about it is correct to a science. But, unfortunately, it just doesn't work.

My time machine is just a pipe dream.

Mom's already left once I'm dressed as I leave my usual early time to go to school. A small breakfast bar in hand. Nothing out of the ordinary. Earliness is the key to achieving accomplishments. It's just that today I'm venturing on a different route. I could ride my Ruddler's Red Rocket? No. No need to change a routine that has yet to fail me.

I walks towards Bradley's house.

There's a small crowd of people nestled outside near a house. It's hard to make out which one. Police cars parked outside. On closer inspection, _that is_ Bradley's home. There is a yellow caution tape blocking people from going any further than a couple yards in front of his home. Everyone here is looking upwards. The postman. The B.O.E in suits. The intrigued neighbors. Oh my, and I can see why.

A jet engine.

A jet engine is nestled in what seems to be Bradley's room. How could this happen? I stare back down across the people and I notice a girl around my age. Bradley's sister. Last time I saw her was when she was with her other cupcake scouts at TJ's.

"Daisy?" I shout at her, from behind the yellow tape.

Daisy looks bewildered at me, like _I'm_ the jet engine that has crashed on her house. " _Hi, person,_ " she replies, walking up to me from the other side of the tape.

"I'm Gretchen," I say, introducing myself.

"Oh yeah yeah yeah, you're in my brother's high school, and you were in his summer school and middle school and, oh yeah, Third street," she replies, lifting up the rope for me to move closer to the house away from the crowd. "I've just been busted wide awake from my beauty sleep. Bradley didn't die, so that's fun. How are you?"

Wow. It _did_ land on Bradley's room.

"Good, thank you," I reply. "It's inconceivable how a gas turbine jet engine could just fall from the sky so neatly on to his roof like this without him even present for it."

"Yep, they don't even know where the engine came from either," she says. " _I guess the future, whoo."_ She wiggles her fingers. "Well, tell my brother when you see him, to get his ass over here, pronto. These older guys have these waivers he's supposed to sign."

I move away from the scenes. The B.O.E in suits look at me suspiciously when I accidentally make eye contact with them. I keep walking until I can finally hear myself in my own head.

Okay. What on earth just happened? Is Bradley okay? His sister said he didn't die. I can't go to school like this. My minds floating. My feet takes me to the park, on to the swings, as I take an empty seat. A girl is already swinging beside me. The girl's pink hair is shimmering off the sun's rays.

Molly stops swinging beside me. "Morning Gretchen," she greets.

"Hello Molly," I reply, looking back at her.

I wonder why Molly is up so early in the morning. Molly smiles back and begins to swing again. I join her. I let my brain rest for a while and feel the breeze flow through my hair. Pushing my eyeglasses back up my nose in intervals.

Wait.

We're not alone.

There's another presence. It's Bradley. He's standing jaded in between us two swinging. He's in his jammies with grass stains on his shirt. I drag my feet on the asphalt to a stop. Bradley has _**28:06:42:12**_ written on his arm with a sharpie.

"Morn...ing!" Molly says, swinging in and out each time. "Brad...ley!"

"Bradley," I say, "you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Bradley replies.

"A jet engine fell from the sky on to your bedroom this morning," I explain.

"Hmm," Bradley goes, sounding only a little bit intrigued. "I guess that definately would have woken me up. Would have killed me too most likely, but, at least I wouldn't have to go to school."

Molly stops swinging. "You sound like an emo," she says.

Bradley grins, still not making eye contact with either of us yet. "Molly, you have no idea."

Molly observes his arm. "Nice art. What's it mean?"

"The universe is gonna end," he replies. He points at each number on his arm. "28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds. A man in a warthog costume told me last night. Principle Third and Tad White were together at the west side golf course this morning."

I ponder for a second. "Man in a warthog costume?" I ask. "That has to be Menlo."

"It can't be," Bradley replies, locking his eyes on me. "Menlo lives on the same street as me, but we'd have to have been sleepwalking together all the way to the golf course. Plus his voice was deep and echo-y. He had a hole in his chest where his heart would be, and the costume was red not purple."

"But the warthogs changed their kit to red yesterday," I state. "Menlo included."

"Oh. Well, that's one. I recon Menlo's a heavy sleeper, his balls haven't dropped yet, and I doubt he has the most insane congenital defect of actually having a hole going straight through his chest till you can see behind him."

Molly tilts her head up at Bradley. "What's sleep walking like?"

"It's complicated," he replies back at her.

"Yeah?"

"It's like a force, you know? In your brain. It sends you someplace."

"Do you go some place familiar?"

"No. Every time I keep going further and further away from my house."

"Sounds scary," Molly mumbles. She sighs, as she motions up and down on the swings again.

I turn to Bradley. "Shouldn't you be hurrying to look after your sister?" I ask. "I saw her. She says you need to sign something."

"I doubt it," he replies. "I think she's just hasn't figured out the difference between a signature and an autograph yet. She can take care of herself. She's amazing and doesn't act nearly near her age. She has this whole cupcake business empire that can practically pay the mortgage on its own. No joke. I'll go anyway to see whats left of my room and to see if _you're_ not lying just to mess with me." He chuckles to himself. He walks ahead of us, stops and turns around. "I haven't got time to run lines with you till you come back from, _Minnesota, was it?"_ I nod back. "I can dump you in front of everyone at school later!"

"Terrific!" I smile.

Molly stops swinging at an abrupt stop, skidding her shoes on the ground. She looks at us both all confused.

* * *

I'm at the Crime Academy & Science Forensics graduation ceremony at X high school.

In Minnesota.

I sit with Third's family. We're in a large outside tent with chairs lain out for visitors. Principle Third himself, an older gentleman and a girl who looks like an older version of the graduate we're here for. Ingrid Third. Ingrid has fairly short black hair and her fringe curled with a wavy shine. She reminds me of myself. Of how I looked like when I decided to turn emo, but she's breaking that stereotype mold. She's smiling back at us.

"Good morning esteemed faculty and families of my fellow graduates," says Ingrid, looking over at only four or five families. The ceremony has a lot of empty seats. She lets out a groan. "The ones graduating earlier than anyone else anyway." She fixes up her piece of paper she's reading from. "It's an honor to be standing up here today. I know we all think that we're gonna be in high school forever. We're supposed to feel that way. We see our friends everyday down hallways, in classrooms, in after school clubs. We're still growing out of our awkward stages. We binge on our shared addiction of the internet, caffeine and rash decisions. We're cartoon'ed up. We think everything's going to just revert back to how it was. But, like our very brief four years in high school, what makes life valuable is that it doesn't last forever. What makes it precious is that it ends. And I know that now more than ever. And I say it, today of all days, to remind us that time is precious. So don't waste it living someone else's life. Make yours count for something. Fight for what matters to you. No matter what. Because even if we fall short, what better way is there to live?"

Ingrid stops as she folds up her paper. We applaud her speech. She moves away from the podium and takes her diploma from one of her teachers. She shakes their hand. The girl, who must be her older sister, records this on her phone, whilst her father shoots her from his camera. She walks down the steps towards us. Ingrid's dad and her sister congratulate her. Her sister takes her hat and diploma from her as she tells her she's going to get it lamented. Ingrid's dad kisses and hugs her as he leaves the ceremony as well. Principle Third hugs Ingrid too.

"That was terrific," Principle Third says, as he lets go of their hug.

"Thank you," Ingrid replies. "Who's this?"

"Ingrid, this is Gretchen Grundler," Third says, introducing me. "Another sharp bright intellect like yourself. I thought you might need the company."

"Sir, I thought I was a—" I start to say.

"I'll leave you two to it," Third says, getting up from his seat as he's off and leaving like the rest of Ingrid's family. "I have an urgent meeting to attend to."

Third gets up and leaves through the door of the ceremony tent. Ingrid and I look at each other confused.

Ingrid sighs and tilts her head at me. Her eyes are bright green. "Well, today is certainly full of surprises," she says, as she takes off her graduation gown. She leans it on a chair, revealing her plain black dress underneath. "I guess I could give you a guide of the campus."

Ingrid leads me out of the tent. She takes me around X high school. It's a huge place that could rival even Thad High in scale. Parts of the school seemed to be separated into different individual schools. The high school has a college style set-up. There's a mime school with silent students with make-up on, pretending to be locked in invisible walls and cages. An art school with students painting a controlled amount of graffiti and murals on the school walls. A Law school where students are dressed more smart and holding briefcases. There's a section where students are fixing up bikes in a pit stop in a derby circuit. A dance school with students doing ballet and swing dancing with partners lifting themselves up in poses.

"Your speech was awe-inspiring," I say, turning to Ingrid. "It makes me want to be a valedictorian at my school when _I_ graduate."

"You're too kind," Ingrid laughs, as she pauses with a wide grin. "I'm gonna take it as only practice. I'll make sure I go through the motions again and graduate with everyone else in my year. I don't mean to be rude, but, what are you doing here?"

"I seem to be unaware myself," I say, as I watch some students walk by us. "I was just in the midst of working out that my school is being plotted against by the board of education."

I've grabbed Ingrid's attention. She listens to what I have to say. I tell her everything that's happened with James Stone and how it sparked up from our Third Street story, to the current high school drama, while it's still fresh in my mind. She's patient and so nice. Especially for someone whose just graduated. She's actually interested with what I've got to say and not just waiting for her turn to speak.

We pass by a fraternity house with Greek letters along on the top of it.

"Gretchen!"

Who was that? Ingrid looks back at me. I'm a tourist to this place so why would anyone recognize me? We walk closer to the sports dorm rooms. An older guy with a red varsity jacket comes up to me. It's Dustin. Maddie's stepdad.

"It's Gretchen, right?" he asks again.

Ingrid looks intrigued at us both.

"Yes," I reply. "You help the alumni here, don't you? I forgot I might bump into you."

" _Right,_ " Dustin replies really slowly. "Yeah so, it's not all hazing freshers anymore, I'm actually changing up. For good. I work in the school now as a teacher. I'm a full professional now, tax returns and all."

Dustin is wearing a smart shirt under his jacket with further inspection.

"Oh, okay," I reply, "is it permanent?"

"Yeah, it's gonna also mean I'm moving," he explains. I just nod back. " _We're_ moving. That means Maddie too."

I pause. Maddie's gonna leave? She secured herself as part of the gang. She'll definately leave a void once she's gone. I congratulate him and he does the same as he acknowledges Ingrid on her early diploma.

Ingrid and I move on in the school. Ingrid takes me to the final part of the high school called the crime academy. We move down the hallways and enter a room. It's the head quarters. It's lively in here. There's students with their own desks. It has all the makings of a police station. Evidence folders. Crime photos on the walls. Bad students taken away in plastic handcuffs.

Ingrid takes me by her desk towards the back. An 'Ingrid Third' name plate is on her desk.

Two boy seniors come in. They're both covered in feathers. One with very short hair almost as if he's bald, with small round circular glasses and a green v-neck shirt. The other boy has ginger hair and freckles. The other students take notice and give a sarcastic cheer at their expense as those two trudge inside the office together. Both of them have glue oozing on the floor from their feet.

The boy with glasses blows out feathers from his mouth. "O'Farrell," he moans at his friend beside him. "You let them get away."

"But we were so close," O'Farrell replies, ruffling feathers out of his hair. "I could taste it."

"Nah," the boy replies, shaking his head. "That would be the crazy glue."

The boy sits besides Ingrid's desk. His name plate corresponds to 'Cornelius Fillmore'. The door of the 'Senior commissioner of the crime academy' opens. A boy with short black hair emerges.

"What's with all the commotion?" he asks, as he takes a sip from his cocoa mug. He looks at Cornelius. "You let the perps get away?"

"How'd you guess?" Cornelius snarls back, as he flicks feathers off his shirt. "We'll get them next time."

"No you won't," the commissioner replies, with a stern voice. "You need some rest, Fillmore. You need a vacation."

"I don't _need_ a vacation," Fillmore replies, getting up from his desk and walking towards him. "It's a tame case. O'Farrell doesn't work well as a partner. If Ingrid was here—"

"Don't pin this one on, O'Farrell," he replies.

On the side of the office, O'Farrell is looking in a mirror with his butt stuck out as he removes his feathers. This is making the girl sitting beside him look squeamish.

The commisioner continues saying, "If you don't take a break I'm not gonna hear the end of it from the principle. So at least think about it, okay?"

Fillmore doesn't answer as he takes his seat again.

The commissioner looks over at O'Farrell bent over as he's plucking himself. "You enjoying the view, Tehama?"

Tehama looks back at O'Farrell and then the commissioner who called her. "You're lucky it's the end of the school year, Vallejo," she grunts. "You don't want me to run my forensics on you." She rolls her eyes. "It's just two months until we'll all be joining Ingrid."

Fillmore looks at the ceiling and turns slowly at Ingrid. "Aye congrats," he says. "How'd it go?"

"Oh, you know," Ingrid replies, as she types on to her laptop. "Better than a good case. Worse than a bad movie." She turns her laptop at me. "Gretchen. This is the guy, right?"

"Correct," I reply. It's a mug shot picture of Stone in front of a ID height wall. "He's the teacher who put TJ in juvie under false pretenses, after he framed him for planting a bomb in the school." Fillmore looks confused and I decide to fill him in. "James Stone before he pretended to be a teacher, he pretended to be a student in my elementary school. It was a whole adult sting operation." I look back at Ingrid." Do you think you could help me track him down or anything?"

Ingrid looks unsure and peers over at Fillmore.

"Well, I'm busy on my own case," Fillmore replies at me. "And. If I were to help, then I don't know. A teacher? We've never suspected a teacher before, I don't think we even can. It's against protocol."

"Crackers!" Ingrid goes, as she types away and pauses on her laptop screen. "Fillmore, I think Gretchen has a point here. There was a story of an escaped mental patient that matches this description." She looks back at me. "Photographic memory," she explains. She carries on. "I cross linked the grand street gazette story. It details everything about James Stone. 'It has forced Superintendent Skinner to recite his position, due to his involvement of the escaped prisoner's blatant intrusion of the children's privacy as the B.O.E plan to finalize the S.E.T.R.A treaty—"

"It's bad," I say, cutting in. "It stands for the 'Strengthening education through resource act', but that's just an euphemism for _stealing student's private information."_

Filmore goes, "Oh snap!" as he leans back forward on his seat. "It's like there's two Ingrid's."

Ingrid looks back on her screen. "Congress and the B.O.E are trying to expand federal psychological profiling on teenagers," she says. "It's like there making an excuse to let them spy and control all of you."

"It's given the students in Thad High uniforms, security cameras everywhere, and new teachers as a knock on effect," I explain.

Fillmore adjusts his glasses, looking over Ingrid's shoulder at her screen. "This is worse than the N.S.A!" he gasps. He turns back at me. "It's like you said. Your friend's bombing was staged and it was just the initiator for these stages of events to happen. Dawg! I see you now. I guess I _do_ need a vacation, and I've never been to Arkansas before." Fillmore pauses and takes a minute to think. "I'll take your case. Ingrid?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Ingrid asks back.

"Right," Fillmore replies. "That's settled." He looks back at me. "What was your name again?"

"Gretchen Grundler," I say.

We shake hands.

"Cornelius Fillmore."

* * *

Bradley hugs me in the hallway and then pushes me away. It's taken me too long to trust Bradley to hug me in the open in front of everyone. I think our play acting looks convincing enough though.

"That's it, Gretchen!" Bradley shouts at me. "I'm calling what we have off. I'm breaking up with you."

"But why, Bradley? I thought what we had was special?" I reply back. This is going great. Everyone's paying attention. I lower my voice to a whisper. " _Okay. Now I'm—"_

"That's the problem with you, Gretchen," Bradley continues. He's still doing the breaking up part. He's going off script. "Everything needs to be solved. Everything needs to have some stupid scientific explanation to it. You're so frigid. You won't let me even touch you. You don't think I know you're still crushing on Jared Smith? Dude's been gone since like, the _fourth grade_."

"Whoa!" Gus gasps on the side.

How did he know I had a crush on him? No one knows how I think about Jared.

"Bradley," I say, trying to notch him back to our agreed lines. " _I think it's better if we stick to the—_ "

"You're way too safe of a person," Bradley goes. "For you, it's homework that comes first. You talk a mile a minute about boring stuff. I ain't even worried that you're even gonna cry over me. You know why?"

"Why?" I ask jaggedly, as I feel my throat choke up.

"If it ain't an A minus on a test, you're not playing the crying game," he says. He turns to the crowd around us. "Everyone that's still doing the Atomic Flush Experiment can go in position. I'm good, though. I've already flushed away this turd nerd." Bradley signals two fingers in my face. "Deuces dweeb!"

Bradley walks away through the crowd. People mumble to each other. That hurt. Girls swarm around me and comfort me with advice. My friends who overheard, ask me if I'm all right. The girl percent of the tech kids come up to me.

Kumiko holds my arms. "I could _grind_ him into chalk dust for you?" she offers.

"No thank you, I'm—" I reply.

"Still in the transitional phase of still liking him," Kumiko says. "That will diminish soon enough."

Most people have abandoned the experiment in protest. People are actually on my side. I actually feel a bit popular. Not like that's important, but, it is nice to have people giving me a bit of their time. Everyone hates Bradley now, but the tech kids already promised between each other that they would do it. I've picked a spare toilet to flush, coordinating with the tech girls, but it's not enough people for it to work.

We countdown. I flush my toilet. The water goes down. It stops. It's resurfacing. That's impossible. This toilets are far from being clogged and there is no way that every toilet in the school was flushed together at the same time. My eardrums pop open. The glass windows smash. The toilets rush water upwards up to the ceiling. Girls from the bathroom run in terror. The school flows water down the hallway. The experiment actually worked. Against the odds.

I make my way out of school, with girls still randomly coming up to me with sympathy. I'm finally alone.

I pour water out of my shoes.

"Hey!"

"Hey," I reply back.

I turn around. It's Bradley, coming from school, walking up to me. I can see girls looking worried as they notice he's coming up to me. I give the girls a subtle smile to indicate that it's okay that he talks to me.

Bradley shows his phone to me. "Our breakup's trending," he says.

He goes back underneath the new Arkansas Hog statue that replaced principle Third's one. He spray paints something beside it. He writes, ' _They made me do it._ '

"Do you want to walk me home?" I ask him, as he finishes what he's doing.

Bradley gets back up and stops by my side. "Sure."

We start to walk together down the sidewalk.

"So, why did you move here?" I ask.

"I divorced my parents," Bradley replies.

I laugh out loud. "I think you mean _they_ got divorced," I say, correcting him. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Bradley looks me over with a straight face. "No," he replies. " _I_ divorced them. I had a full emancipation, and so I decided to move out of the house and move school's too."

"Oh," I mouth out shocked. "That's, uh, different, then."

"I had the option, so I changed my name to Bradley Bravado and I thought that sounded pretty dark. Better than Bradley Thornton," he says. Bradley looks around at the trees while we walk and goes on. "It sucks about TJ. I was in juvie once. I tweaked a house full of chemicals. It was abandoned, but still, I got held back in school, I can't drive until I'm 21, you know how it is. But I'm over all of that. Know I'm painting anime and stuff. Writing. I want to be a comic book writer, or maybe a painter, I don't know, or maybe both. I'll write a graphic novel and draw the comic strips. Then maybe people will understand me. I don't know, change things."

"Bradley Bravado? How did you possibly land on a name like that? It sounds like you're a super villain or something?" I ask stopping still.

"What makes you think I'm not?" Bradley replies, looking me right in the eyes. Close enough for us to kiss. "I should go. I have therapy rearranged to have a session right now. I have my AP science brief to do too. I have to write this essay. Greatest invention ever to help mankind."

"That's easy," I say. "Analog transmission. Alexander Graham Bell, 1876. Before analog, there was no telecommunication, everything was telegraphs and Morse code. You know how most people think Alexander Graham Bell was the inventor, since he was awarded the first successful patent to use it. Well, actually, there were many other inventors such as Elisha Gray and Antonio Meucci, who also developed the talking telegraph."

"You mean phones?"

I look away. I'm a freak. Kumiko's right. I talk too much. Everything in my head just spills out before I think about it.

"I thought the internet," Bradley continues, as we still stand in front of each other. "You know, the small little global system of interconnected computer networks used by just _billions_ of people _worldwide_. Nowadays it can just be boiled down to the same thing anyway." He takes his phone out again at me.

"Well, I'm glad we broke up today," I say.

"Why is that?" he asks.

"If we were ever _really_ dating anyone we wouldn't fear a breakup, because we've already gone through with it," I reply.

"You're weird."

"Sorry."

"No, that was a compliment," Bradley adds. I can't hold in my smile to that. "You wanna go with me? Somewhere? Like on an actual date? _Ex Girlfriend?"_

"Sure, I'd be content with that," I reply.

We're walking together in the same direction for what seems like a long time.

"I thought you had therapy," I say.

"Yeah," Bradley grunts. "At _your_ house or has your mom moved locations too?"

"Oh right. Sorry."

We both smile together.

* * *

 **Ingrid makes her entrance through the school's hallways with Fillmore.** They're clearly mature. They're clearly seniors. Having said that, they both merge into high school effortlessly with the rest of us niners. All the different groups in school are congregating in their usual areas. My gang of friends are around here somewhere. I do notice Spinelli laughing with Troy by her lockers, though. That's nice. Unusual for them to be getting along, which is nice.

I turn towards Fillmore. "Did the accommodation come to your liking?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he replies. "I had a bomb nap. I don't know about Ingrid."

"It's strictly a business trip," Ingrid grunts down low. "It doesn't matter if I had a good rest or not."

"Gretchen's being nice and you have to be all _moody Ingrid_ today?" Fillmore says.

"I'm joking," Ingrid says to me, revealing a sweet smile. "It was very lovely you treating us like this, Gretchen."

"That was you _joking_?" Fillmore goes, poking fun at her. "Remind me when you start being funny." Fillmore has a long look at Menlo, whose wearing the warthogs mascot costume. "Hmm, your mascot is just like ours. Bright red. Animal suit. Claiming another poor student to wear it in this heat and be cooked from the inside."

Menlo hears us coming towards him. He looks shifty, turning his head from side to side. He walks backwards clumsily. Tripping over people making a nuisance of himself.

Ingrid screws her eyes. "Matter fact, he's _a lot_ like our old Lobstee."

Menlo runs down the hallway as he pushes people out of his way.

"I hate it when they run!" Fillmore groans, as he starts sprinting after Menlo.

Ingrid runs after Menlo too. I just stand there.

Ingrid stops and turns around at me. "Gretchen! Come on!"

I snap out of my haze. I run and follow Ingrid as fast as I can

 _["Act two: Revenge is a case best not done by the book"]_

as we edge further down the hallway. Menlo grabs a hover-board off of a tech kid. Fillmore does the same. Both of them glide across the hallway. They make a commotion. The railing leading to the next set of stairs emerges. Menlo dumps the hover-board. He grabs for the railings. He lets the hover board roll as he pulls himself up. He climbs up the next floor. Fillmore matches Menlo again and hangs on the edge behind him. I pull Ingrid by the arm and lead her to another way upstairs. We run up the steps together. We're on the first floor. Menlo opens through a door. Fillmore is still on pursuit. We chase Menlo through the Wall streets kid's classroom where they do stocks. We're out of the room again. The UN move away to the side from us going passed.

Menlo slides his butt down the railings. Fillmore's pace for pace. We're downstairs again. The door has swung open. Ingrid and I reach outside. Menlo throws bikes in the way making obstacles. Fillmore jumps over them. Ingrid and I split up from Fillmore. I hit a good detour. We run past the emo kids performing their poetry with themselves. We find Fillmore still chasing Menlo. We're ahead of Fillmore, right behind Menlo. Two men carrying a sheet of glass get in the way and slow us down. We chase Menlo across the stretch of concrete where hipsters are drawing art on the ground.

"Sorry!" I say, stepping over their art. "Sorry. Sorry."

Fillmore's caught up and runs ahead of us. Menlo heads across the football field.

I feel a sharp spear to my side. It hurts. I breath in and out. I'm holding my side from all the physical exhaustion.

Menlo runs through the cheerleaders making them scream in panic. They throw their pom poms in the air.

Vince comforts me on the back. "Gretch! What's going on?" he asks. He looks at Menlo and then turns to his teammate. "Herk! Take him out!"

Herk runs passed Fillmore and Ingrid. Menlo stops running with his hands on his knees. He turns around. He gets tackled full on. Menlo smashes on the ground with Vince's team mate, Herk, on top of him.

Vince still looks intently at me. "You sure you're all right?" he asks.

I nod back.

I walk over to Fillmore and Ingrid. Herk rolls off of Menlo and goes back to the jocks. Us three stand over him.

Ingrid stares down at Menlo's sprawled out body. "End of the road, Hog."

"Huh?" Fillmore goes. "It sounded like you were gonna say something else there. It still works. ' _Road hog'._ 'End of the road, _hog'_. You still got it, partner."

"Funny, Fillmore," Ingrid replies. "Either way, we've got our first suspect."

* * *

We're in a new room in high school. An interrogation room. Menlo has removed his outfit and he's in his monitor sash. He sits on the desk with Fillmore standing in front of him. Ingrid and I stand in a separate room but there is a gaping hole revealing where we are. The two men, who were carrying the glass during the chase, are still placing the two way mirror for our room.

"Um, I can see them," Menlo points out, as he looks at us two. He's caught on to that we're supposed to be spotting him behind the, soon to be made, two way mirror. "I can see what you're doing!"

Fillmore slams his hands on the table. "Don't worry about them, worry about me," Fillmore goes, with a long glare. "So, who's the guy behind the suit's _name?_ "

"Menlo."

"You were in a rush. You have somewhere to go, Menlo?"

"I was just going outside to pump up the team."

I sigh out load. "Come on, Menlo!" I say. "The team just won the cup last weekend, they're probably all pumped out by now."

Fillmore flicks Menlo's monitor sash with his finger. "I used to wear a sash like this back in middle school. Except it was bright orange and I didn't sell out my friends."

"Hey!" Menlo goes, crossing his arms. "I didn't sell out my friends! I only helped James know their whereabouts." Menlo pauses. He rolls and darts his eyes. "Oops."

Ingrid smiles and laughs beside me. "So you _did_ work with James Stone," she says. Ingrid and I move from our separate bunker, enter from the door to the door in the hallway, into the interrogation room. "Why don't you start from the top?"

"All right," sighs Menlo. "I was supposed to intercept TJ's test in the beginning of year and give him an instant pass, but on first and last glance TJ _actually_ did well enough to pass all by himself."

"Who told you to do that?" asks Ingrid.

"James Stone," he replies. "He promised me a free scholarship to any college in America if I did. He had all the paperwork and references from people like the superintendent ready to go. Seems simple enough, right? But he kept adding new conditions, like giving him a job at the school. Giving him information of TJ's and his friends every class. You don't know how hard that is. When everything is in order and someone keeps harping at you for favor after favor."

I take my turn to ask, "What's your current GPA?"

"3.3," he replies.

"That's really good," I gasp. "You didn't have to do what you did."

"Damn!" Fillmore says, sounding amazed. "What a straight riversale for next to no pay off. _That's really_ sketch."

I turn to Fillmore. "I'm sorry, I don't understand," I say.

"Oh yeah, I'm in Arkansas now. The natural state. Excuse the C-town lingo."

Ingrid pats me on the shoulder. "Fillmore just means Menlo sold TJ and your friends out for nothing."

 _"I did not,"_ Menlo interjects. "How was I supposed to know he was gonna get TJ into juvie? I didn't know about the bomb until it happened. I never wanted anything bad to happen to TJ. Ever. He's the closest person I've ever had to a best friend."

Fillmore raises his thick eyebrows. "And yet you let someone who obviously has an obsessive stalking tendency have a look on all of his classes," he says. "Oh yeah, you're a _best_ friend."

Ingrid looks through photos in the crime folder. "It just doesn't add up," she goes. "Why would James Stone think he has the means to put you through college? He's a struggling actor." She puts down the photo of the sprayed lockers on the desk in front of Menlo. "Why would you spray 'I did signed. TJ', if TJ's such a good friend?"

Menlo looks at the photos. "That wasn't me."

"Menlo?" Fillmore groans.

"Honestly. It wasn't. It couldn't have been me. I was on the PA system calling TJ downstairs. I have witnesses and everything."

"You're lying," Fillmore adds.

"No," I say. "I think he's telling the truth. TJ and Menlo used to be best friends. TJ still goes to his birthday parties once a year besides their differences."

"What I don't get is." Ingrid starts, thinking in deeply. "If TJ was one of the most _liked_ students in school and Menlo's story _checks out_. Who _did_ spray his name on the lockers and all the walls?"

Fillmore and Ingrid let Menlo go. With the two way mirror complete, Ingrid and I watch behind it as Fillmore asks questions to each type of group in school. Dissecting them from each of their leaders.

"Where were you between the hours of 8:55 and 9:11 on December 6th?" asks Fillmore.

Deshay is first. He's more of a muted character ever since we've had to wear uniforms. His and Fillmore's skin tone shades are really similar.

"In class," Deshay replies, scrubbing his eyes, looking uninterested. "Being a good kid. Participating on the yearly round bore fest and if it's about Mr Crowhurst saying my homework was copy and pasted off the internet? There's no proof of that. You've got nothing on me."

We get to the next leader of a group. Fillmore asks the same question to Drake from the emos.

"Nowhere," Drake replies. "Everywhere. A dark void just floating in space. It doesn't _matter_. I don't _matter_. We're all just useless insignificant _matter_ floating through time trying to kid ourselves that our lives have any actual importance."

"So, you we're in class, then?" Fillmore asks.

"Well, yeah. Obviously," Drake adds.

Jimmy is the next leader up. He's has his long hair tied back as opposed to when it's usually allowed to flow down to his shoulders.

"I was studying with my fellow man," starts Jimmy, acting very complaint. " _The brick wall to the pursuit of happiness_. The UN members were in class too, I doubt they would succumb to the temptation of wondering off as yet, well, until the TJ thing."

Maddie sits adjacent to Fillmore whose standing ahead of her. She looks really bored and ready to walk out any second.

"I. Don't. Remember. Guy," Maddie says, enforcing each word with feeling. "Everything's still fuzzy. Not _My Fuzzy Unicorn_ fuzzy, just fuzzy. My imagination's been wandering like that so—"

"Where were the cheerleaders at that time?" asks Fillmore.

"What? I dunno. Beats me. I'm not even a cheerleader anymore."

Ingrid looks intently through the glass. "I thought you said she was the head of the cheerleaders?" Ingrid asks me as we look on.

"I did," I reply. "I guess she's _not anymore?_ It's hard to tell when we're all wearing uniforms like this."

Maddie puts her head in her hands. "You guys wouldn't happen to have any ArkanSass ice tea? Would ya? No?"

Ashley B takes Maddie's place on the desk.

"Is Maddie trying to set me up?" Ashley B asks, looking mad at Fillmore.

"I'm just asking where were you between the hours of 8:55 and 9:11 on December 6th?" he asks.

"This is totally unfair. Maddie was like, _so uncalled_ for in her party. I didn't know Paige was gonna go split screen. Maddie's some saint now all of a sudden. She's _so_ not even. Like, how long are you supposed to feel sorry for someone who came out of a coma?"

"So did you see TJ _after_ the bomb exploded?"

 _"Duh._ Someone should really try and find out who really did that. I bet it was Maddie. That's _so_ like her."

Troy is now sat in the hot seat. He's here to represent the jocks.

"Working on my fitness," answers Troy to Fillmore's question.

"It says here you were in class," says Fillmore, staring down at the registration folder on the day.

"Yeah!" says Troy in delight. "But you don't know about the bra lift, my friend."

"The bra lift?"

"Yeah dude. You ask a girl for her sports bra. Which would be easy for me, cause," Troy says, stopping to point directly at his own face. "Right? You put it on and fill the boob holes with weights. I'm a 20 lb each chest. And you just do press ups and press ups and press ups between two desks. So you can get your pump on, while you get your think on. The bra lift."

Fingers Malloy of the Wall Street kids is next on the desk. He parts his dreadlocks away from his eyes, before he loosens his tie. His shirt sleeves already rolled up. We're not supposed to wear ties with our uniform.

"Doing AP Macroeconomics. Sorting out the stocks. On the phone with clients," he lists.

"You're not supposed to be on the phone during class when the teachers are trying to teach," says Fillmore.

"My clients _are_ the teachers," Malloy adds.

Fillmore raises his eyebrows looking all surprised.

Kumiko is now sat on the desk. Out of everyone so far she looks the most distant to the interrogation. She types on her phone not listening to Fillmore.

"Hello?" Fillmore asks.

Kumiko keeps typing on her phone as she ignores him.

"Hello? You hearing me?"

"Ugh!" Kumiko sighs out load, putting down her phone a tad. "Okay detective-or-whatever. I know my rights. You are not really concerned with hearing my side of the story, you just want me to say something incriminating for you to get happy over. I'm not like these other dummies that go to school here. I say nothing until my attorney gets here."

"Word?" Fillmore replies.

There's a knock on the door. It takes Ingrid and I off-guard. Fillmore gives a little look at us as he answers the door. A tech kid girl comes in. She sits straight next to Kumiko. She's just a student and in the same year as me. Her attorney is glued on her phone just blowing out bubblegum.

" 私はそれらを教えましょうか？ _(Shall I tell them?)"_ Kumiko's attorney goes.

"It's all right, I'll tell them," Kumiko replies to her. She looks back at Fillmore. "The WiFi service in the school is hijacked. All the conversations between students are being read, this explains how James Stone knows everything that happens around the school masquerading as a trusted WiFi network designed to lure smartphones to connect with it. A scheme to subsequently monitor phone owners and sniff their data in real-time. It's a plot being devised against this high school."

"Oh my!" I shriek. I turn at Ingrid. "Kumiko is the person President CJ Rottweiler was talking about. Because Fingers said, that Jimmy said, that Drake' s favorite-worst friend's, girlfriend's sister." I stop. Ingrid looks lost. "Um Kumiko, worked out that there is indeed a plot to spy on all of us."

"We should question her more," Ingrid replies.

"No point. I can talk to her after school," I say. I stop. "We should question Bradley. I think he might of done the spraying. He wasn't a student yet, he could of sneaked into the school. He was close to TJ too."

He might be a prime suspect of helping James Stone. He was there with TJ in his bedroom last year, he wrote _they made me do it_ underneath the statue. Why can't he be a super villain like he said?

Fillmore's talked to all the leaders. The door of the interrogation room knocks again. He answers it. Molly walks inside. She explains that she's willing to participate. Kumiko and her friend leave as Molly sits in their place now.

"Now I'm just gonna ask you one simple question, then. Where were you between the hours of 8:55 and 9:11 on December 6th?" he asks.

Molly closes her eyes shut. Tears form around her squeegeed face. She's crying.

I sigh in and out. Molly is so sensitive sometimes. Truly. I roll my eyes to it. I leave the small area as Ingrid tags along behind me. We walk inside the room.

Fillmore is confused. He mouths to Ingrid and I, "What is happening?"

Ingrid looks closer at her. "What's wrong, Molly? Did the mean Fillmore upset you?" she asks.

"It was me," Molly says quickly.

"What you mean?" Ingrid asks again as she rubs Molly on her arm.

"I did it. TJ," she splutters in between sobs.

I get closer to her. "Calm down, it's okay," I say.

"No it's not. I did it. TJ. It was me. The lockers."

Fillmore waves his hand by his waist. "You were the one that spray painted I did it signed TJ along the lockers?" he asks.

"And I feel horrible for it," Molly adds, as she talks more steadier. "I thought I was helping TJ's art for him. I didn't know that he would be framed straight afterwords. On the day of the big bang I saw him. I had a look outside at his pranks and then I went to the girl's bathroom. I talked to TJ about school and about his work, they're such great pieces of modern art. It was amazeballs. But he didn't want to be recognized as the artist. He didn't wanna sign all of his pieces. Leave a legacy. A flourish. Then I saw the janitor—"

"James Stone," I add.

"Before I knew who he was. He said I could help TJ. I wanted to help a fellow artist so I—I, I wrote his name for him. James Stone made me think I was doing the right thing. I couldn't see TJ after that. I couldn't bare to see his cute blue eyes and pretend I didn't know what I did. So I missed TJ's send off at his house. I feel the guilt chew up my tummy every single day. And I am _so_ sorry."

"Dis-co!" Fillmore gasps out loud.

* * *

 **Tad White stands smug ready to start** his speech in front of the entire school body. We're in the auditorium. Teachers standing on the side. Us students sat down. Bradley and I are back on again. Just that roller coaster relationship everyone thinks they are a part of. Vince and Ashley B are beside us. An actual relationship, a real one, that isn't built up on lies.

"Good morning, you Hogs!" Tad White greets warm heartedly on his microphone.

"Good morning," we reply back as an audience.

"You're young people. Is that all the verve you can muster? I said, good morning!"

"Good morning!" we reply, a bit louder.

"Now, that showed a little more improvement. But I can sense some students are holding back and are still not saying, good morning!"

"Good morning!"

Bradley beside me hasn't said good morning once.

"Yes!" Tad White continues. "That's what I want to hear! Because everyday too many young men and women like yourselves come forward to me in my court room. With the same sorry excuses. They give into the temptation of delinquency and failing grades, with their potentials all squandered and washed away." He pauses and moves to the side. "It's a heartrendingly sad story I'm going to discuss. It's about a young man who had so much promise, but whose life was completely destroyed by his actions. A young man, searching for the truth in all the wrong places. You may have knew him. His name was Theodore."

A slide, behind Superintendent Tad White, turns on with the projector displaying two pictures of TJ. One with him from kindergarten and a mugshot of him from juvie. Tad White talks about TJ and his predicament. It shows a young TJ doing a presentation in kindergarten, TJ doing the spelling bee in the fifth grade, then it transitions to an older TJ. It shows videos of TJ's first day in juvie. TJ getting punched in the face. Him behind bars. He's talking about TJ like he knows him. I hear people groaning in disgust. I notice how annoyed Spinelli is. Gus is shaking his head. Mikey clasping his mouth in shock.

Tad explains that he's setting up a program in school. He's giving out free books later today about his summer school program to help kids who have any detention record to reach the straight and narrow in life. That's pretty much everyone in school. Including me.

Bradley looks concerned and disconnected next to me. He looks drawn out as he slumps on his chair. Bradley says something under his breath. " _I'm moving through our fan fiction's plot._ "

"What?" I ask.

What in pray tell does _that_ mean?

Tad White continues talking. "Thank you for listening. Now, one at a time. I want some students to take this chance to ask me anything at all."

There's a mic stand in the middle of the stairs in the auditorium. Ashley A goes towards the mic and faces Tad White.

"Hi," Ashley A starts. "My little sister Brittany, she like, keeps stealing my diary and blackmailing me. I wish she was dead."

"Sweetheart, you can not wish death upon your own flesh and blood," Tad White says. "She's your little sister. She looks up to you—"

"But she doesn't. She's using it to steal my things—"

"Excuse me I haven't finished talking," Tad White enforces, cutting her off. "She looks up to you because you're her hero. Stop trying to get your diary back and start trying to get your little sister back."

"Um. Thanks?" goes Ashley A unsure.

"Thanks what?" he asks.

"Thanks sir?"

"Great. Now come up on stage. Don't be shy."

Ashley A leaves the mic and stands on the stage.

Geoffrey stands up next in the middle of the auditorium staircase and pushes the mic closer to his mouth. "My friend what's to know. Is it okay if some days he wants to dress up like a girl sometimes, and other times he wants to be a guy again?"

"Your friend, huh?" Tad White goes. "Short answer. No." Geoffrey hangs his head and walks back to his seat. "Where do you think you're going? Jump up on stage next to this young girl." Geoffrey moves next to Ashley A. Tad looks back at the audience. "Next?"

Gus goes on the mic. "I work part time—"

"Very good yes, go on," Tad replies.

"But there's these guys. Older tough guys who keep stealing sweets and making a mess, even though they're banned from the store. They don't stop. They throw me in the freezer and—"

"What's the question?"

"What can I do to learn how to fight?"

" _What can I do to learn how to fight,_ " Tad White mimics Gus. "Young man, violence is futile. Learn to truly love yourself and your enemies. It will work out brighter for you that way."

"Okay," Gus replies.

"Okay, get yourself up here," says Tad White. Gus goes up on stage next to Geoffrey and Ashley A. "All right."

Bradley gets off his seat still sulking. Oh gosh. What's he gonna say?

Bradley has a wide smile on his face as he fixes the mic under his mouth. _"_ Morning!" he greets at Tad White.

"Good morning," Tad White replies.

"Um, how much is the principle paying you to be here?" asks Bradley.

We all gasp in the audience.

Tad White, is unfazed, but he's confused. "Uh, excuse me? What is your name?"

"Jared," Bradley lies back at him.

We start to giggle a little bit. He's pretending to have the name of my first crush.

"Well, Jared, I think you're afraid," says Tad White.

"Are you telling us all this stuff so we can read your book, and join your dumb program? Because I got to tell you, if you are, that was some of the worst advice I've ever heard."

"You see how volatile this boy is?" _  
_

Bradley continues as he turns his head towards Ashley A on stage, as the mic projects his voice still. "Do you want your little sister to give you your diary back? Then wrestle and fight it off her. But don't finish there. Write crude, messed up and vindictive stuff inside of it, like she's really adopted or how your planning to kill her or something. But don't force it, do it gradually, make it really convincing, and let her find it. She'll maybe never steal your diary ever again."

"Don't do this, Jared," says Tad White.

Bradley looks at Geoffrey. "You know what? Life is hard enough for people to judge on who you should and shouldn't be. Be who you are, don't be ashamed, dress how you wanna. Whose business is it if you wanna dress different? We won't judge you. There's already gay, lesbian, bi students, and even a trans teacher in this school already. Maybe you could ask the drama teacher where she shops at." He looks back at Tad White. "I mean, it takes all kinds to make a high school, right Tad?" He looks at Gus. "And you. Yeah you. Gus. Sick of some assholes stealing sweets from your store? Well, you know what? Convenience store owners have the right to use firearms for self defense on anyone who is trying to steal or tarnish their business. Maybe you could use a BB gun, and next time they try to do a five finger discount, you shoot them right between the eyes."

We gasp again. People start laughing in the crowd.

 _"_ Do you see this?" Tad asks us. "This is an anger fulled delinquent. A textbook example. Do you see all this malice, people? This boy is scared to death of the truth. It hurts for me to say this, but I believe you are a very troubled young man. I believe you are completely lost and you're searching for the answers in all the wrong places."

"You're right, actually," says Bradley. "I am a delinquent and I am pretty troubled, and I'm scared, really scared of the truth." He takes in a breath and sighs. "But I think you're the freaking Antichrist."

Two teachers take Bradley off the microphone as we cheer and clap for him.

"What did I do wrong?" I hear Bradley laugh, as he's taken away.

"Gretchen! Ashley B goes. "Hey Gretchen! This doesn't change anything. Bradley's just trying to get on everybody's good side. It doesn't forgive him for what he did to you."

Vince looks oddly into space.

School assembly finishes.

Vince stands by his locker in the hallway. I wonder what he wants from me.

"Hey Gretch!" Vince shouts. "I wanna show you something, you know, something that could help you in your case." Vince takes out a small voo doo doll that looks like Mr Foley. On Vince's finger he's got two golden rings now. One abstinence and one football. "I didn't make this. It was a gift from the emos. Give it a spin. It might work. Seeing as James Stone was Mr Foley as well, right?"

"This is, um, odd. But it couldn't hurt to store it with our other pieces of evidence," I reply.

"Cool. I wouldn't just give it to you like this if I didn't think it could work. I used to open my locker next to Drake and the other emos everyday and—"

J-pop music starts playing really loudly. Vince looks at me and waits with a smile. I stand for a second. Is that coming from me? I take out my phone. I'm getting an unknown call. Oh. Kumiko must of changed my ringtone when she improved Galileo 2.0. No one ever calls me. It's only texts.

"Hello?" I ask, on my phone.

"This is Fillmore! I need back up! I'm on foot pursuing a suspect!" he goes, in pants as I can hear he's running.

"Where are you?"

"I'm reaching the teacher's parking lot! Thanks, Ingrid!"

He called me Ingrid. I am still a female counterpart, it must be easy to get confused in the heat of a chase.

Teachers parking lot? Does that mean we're going after a teacher?

I leave Vince and run down the hallway.

"Hey Gretch!" Vince calls. "Remember!" Vince moves his arms in the correct running technique, for me not to forget.

I nod back. I head outside of school. Fillmore is chasing after Matthew Hewitt. I join the chase. Matthew Hewitt takes off in his car and he's getting away. Fillmore jogs up to me slightly gutted. He looks around aimlessly and runs into the street.

Fillmore runs in front of a school bus with his badge out. The bus comes to a stop. This isn't any other school bus. It has yellow and orange flames painted on the side which got remastered, large back tractor wheels with tank tread, and a supercharger engine on the hood.

The school bus opens.

"I'm commandeering this bus!" Fillmore says, showing his badge.

Bertha, the school bus driver, looks over at him. "Like hell you are! The only person driving my baby is me!"

"This is unarguable, ma'am," he replies.

"Don't ma'am me, little man!"

I step on to the bus behind Fillmore.

The new younger gang notice me with, "Hey!", "Hey Gretchen!", "Gretchen look at us! Look at us!"

I wave back at the sixth graders as I notice Spencer, Emma and the others. "Hi!" I turn to Bertha. "Please could you follow that car?"

It seems like its in vain as Matthew is pretty much out of sight by now.

"Gretchen?" Bertha asks. "Yes, anything for you. You and Spinelli are the only reason my bus is this _fly_. Hold on to your seats!"

Bertha closes the door behind us. Fillmore and I are pushed back down the bus as Bertha races down the street. I wobble from side to side for a seat.

"Hey Gretchen!" says Emma, patting the seat next to her, as Spencer gives way for me. "Sit next to me!"

I take a seat. Gilbert and Cindy poke their heads over and dangle their arms on the seat right behind me.

Fillmore moves to the front next to Bertha. "You're passing him!" he shouts, as I notice too that Matthew's car is gradually going behind us.

"Hold your glasses, I'm gonna spin Old Smokey around and block his ass!" Bertha goes.

I stretch my head a bit across the aisle of the bus. "Bertha! Don't!" I exclaim. There has to be a better way to stop him. I look over at the Third street kids wide eyes. "Guys? Do you have anything sharp at all?"

Spencer, Dylan, Gilbert and Emma hold up hair clips, pencils and paperclips. Cindy shows us something she's not supposed to have. A butterfly knife. She's doing tricks with it like it's nothing. She's only eleven. Cindy Thornton. She's Bradley's second younger sister that lives with her parents still. I can see the resemblance now, besides the blonde hair, it's quite uncanny.

"Cindy?" I ask. "Is that a—?"

"A balisong, yeah," she replies, rolling the knife along her arms like yo-yo nun-chucks. "They're illegal to possess in sixteen states, but not _this_ one."

I don't have time to lecture her.

I look around. "Does anybody have anything long I could attach some sharp things on?"

"Oh! Me! Me!" goes Emma, next to me. "I propose you should use this." She pulls out a long zig zag measurement ruler.

"You're a star!"

I bend the paper clips and sharp parts of hair clips and attach it with bubblegum on to Emma's long zig zag ruler. It's a new on-the-fly spike strip. Fillmore moves further down the bus. I open the bus' back door. Spencer and Gilbert throw out the spike strip in front of Mathew's car. The car slows down to a stop. The strip deflates Matthew's tyres.

Matthew Hewitt is a frustrated figure as he gets out of his car. Fillmore and I jump out the back of the bus after him. The sixth graders say bye to us. We hop over fences after him. We go through a garden of a family having a picnic. We run through another garden. Fillmore slides through an inflatable water slide with a skateboard.

I switch directions. I go through another path of gardens. Fillmore keeps running. I calculate and try to predict where Matthew is going to head next.

I run through an already opened house. I can hear the TV in the living room.

"It's the only city whose teams won the Super Bowl & the Stanley Cup in the same calendar year?" asks the show host.

"Hey!" says someone from a family of four.

"Pittsburgh!" I answer, not stopping in my stride.

"Hey!" says someone from that family. "You got it right!"

"I know!" I reply, running through their kitchen and outside their pantry doors.

I go through another back garden. I hop another fence. I jump on a trampoline, Daisy, Bradley's little sister, is already jumping on it. I use her velocity and jump higher above the fence as a land pointblank on Matthew Hewitt's head.

Fillmore heads over to me.

"Nice job, Grundler. You got him!" says Fillmore, handcuffing him.

* * *

Matthew Hewitt's handcuffed and chain-linked on to the interrogation desk. The criminal evidence folder is open up on the table. A picture of Mr Hewitt's car, license plate and the money found in his briefcase. A picture of James Stone as the janitor. Pictures of all the new recently assigned teachers, as well as the Emo's Mr Foley voodoo doll.

"Did you _really_ have to cuff me?" Matthew asks, rattling his handcuffs. "I'm not complaining, it's just. You know. _Really_?"

"Sir, if you could just comply—" I start.

"We've been trying to figure out who James Stone is," goes Fillmore. "Trying to match mannerisms. Linking little likenesses. Stuff like that. But I'm convinced, he's you."

Matthew sighs at us both. "I'd facepalm right now if I weren't handcuffed."

"I'm not even gonna question you, James," says Fillmore firmly. He nods at me. "Can you call Spinelli and Maddie in?"

I do just that. We wait a while in this room. Matthew keeps fidgeting looking so restless. He's acting more childish than the sixth graders.

Spinelli comes straight in without knocking. "Whoa! _Bookham and McVice vibe much?_ " she asks, out load. Maddie follows her inside and closes the door behind her. "When did this room get fitted like this?" She looks at our suspect. "Oh, hey Matthew."

Maddie turns to Spinelli. "Spinelli, he's supposed to be James Stone, remember?" she says.

Spinelli looks back at me. "You've tortured him already?" she asks. "Cause Troy said we I should totally torture him, even if he _does_ confess. Ah, Troy is, Troy is stupid."

Maddie gasps. "You're dating Troy now aren't you?" she asks her. "Don't lie."

Spinelli just smiles even wider.

"Girls!" Fillmore goes, ordering them to focus now.

Spinelli looks down to Matthew. "Maddie and I followed you to the Board of Ed court. And we saw the money you had in the briefcase."

Fillmore nods with his arms crossed. "Hows _that_ for suspicious?"

Matthew looks lost. "What?"

Maddie goes, "The money."

"What?" asks Matthew again.

Fillmore shakes his head. "You're only digging yourself even deeper. Actors have to get paid, right?"

"What?"

"Say what again. I dare you. I double dare you. I _triple doggy dare you,_ " Fillmore says with menace, closer in Matthew's face.

"Look," Matthew sighs. "I'm done kidding around. I don't know what you're talking about. Any money that's in my trunk, I'm keeping it for sure, so—I'm guilty for _that."_

"Hmm," I say, feeling my chin. "I have been reading the jurisdiction rules and practices. Everything has to go through the board of education first. The insurance cost of the school's damages would have cost around the same amount that the briefcase held. Tad White was probably just using Matthew as a middle man to transfer insurance money to the school."

Fillmore sighs. "Why were you running?"

"Unpaid parking tickets," Matthew replies. "I'm _not_ James Stone. _I wish I was_. It sounds a lot more lit than being a careers councilor, let me tell ya."

I fiddle with the voodoo doll and look intently at Matthew at the same time. Pulling it's arms, legs and twisting it's tiny head. No reaction.

"Aw, that's cute," Maddie says, complimenting the little voo doo doll. "Whose _that_ supposed to be?"

"Mr Foley," I reply. "One of James Stone's disguises. Vince gave it to me."

Spinelli looks weirded out. "You really trust Vince for that to work?"

Matthew screws his face. "Spinelli?"

"Yeah Matthew."

"How much money was in the briefcase? A few hundred dollars? Enough for a new suit, or something boring like that?"

"Oh, you know," Spinelli starts, wincing away from him, as it dawns on us that he's innocent. "Just, a, um, a million dollars."

" _Oh._ _Awesome._ Could you guys give me a minute, to, be alone with my thoughts?"

We all leave the interrogation room. Matthew has a big smile on his face. Maddie's the last one to close the door.

Matthew screams out loud in swears.

"You know what?" Maddie goes. "I don't think Matthew _is_ James Stone."

We all sulk our faces at Maddie.

* * *

It's almost midnight.

"A wormhole with an Einstein-Rosen bridge which is theoretically, a wormhole in space controlled by man," I explain to Bradley, watching over his shoulder as he plays a game in the arcade.

After chasing and questioning teacher's at school all day, I'm exhausted and just ready to collapse. But Bradley asked me out on a date tonight. The shining screen of the arcade machine and this conversation is the only things keeping me awake.

"So," replies Bradley, pressing buttons and wiggling his joystick, "according to Hawking, a wormhole may be able to provide a shortcut for jumping between two distant regions of space-time. In order to travel back in time, you have to have a big spaceship or something that can travel faster than the speed of light?"

"Theoretically."

"What about speed of plot?" he asks, finishing his game and walking away from it.

"Of like a story? I dunno if science and physics can best explain that," I reply, following him.

"And your lost without science, right?"

We walk across the arcade to the back doors. The Townsedge mall's way is closed off.

Bradley opens the door for me. "I'm in love," he says. I turn back at him. "With your brain," he finishes. I smile as we walk for a bit in silence in the night. " _I love your brain too, Bradley."_ He mimics in a girl's voice.

"Sorry!" I go, grabbing his arm. "I do! I do!"

"Nah, it's too late," he replies. He stares over my shoulder this time as I turn another page on Tad White's book with my phone as a flashlight. "I can't believe you're reading that monster's book."

We walk up towards the movie theater. It's Friday Fright night and they're playing _Pandamonium 4_.

"I have to. To keep on top of things. Reading a book authored and published _by a monster_ should get me ready to watch a _monster movie_."

Bradley buys our tickets. It's a completely empty cinema at night. We don't get any popcorn. We're all sugared out from earlier.

The trailers play.

My eyes feel heavy.

I trust Bradley enough to rest my head on his shoulder. The lights in the room dim darker. I half expect him to put his arm around me. He doesn't. I feel myself fall half asleep. And not fully. I'm asleep but not asleep. My eyes are so heavy. They're only partially closed.

I hear thuds. Is that someone coming in? Can Bradley protect me? I close my eyes.

I don't know how much time passes and I open them again. A demon. A demon in a warthog costume is sitting next to me. Bradley is still on my right side. That thing in the school's warthog suit is on my left. Could he really be Menlo under there? I've got sleep paralysis. It looks like Menlo's costume but it looks ruffled and has a hole straight through it's chest. It's like it just appeared in the room. I can't move or talk. Only listen.

"Why are you wearing that stupid warthog mask on your head _indoors_?" Bradley asks.

"Why are you wearing that stupid hoody on your head _indoors_?" the warthog demon replies.

They both must think I'm still asleep. The warthog man in the costume's voice is deep and raspy. An echo-y sound just like Bradley described a week ago.

Bradley puts his hood down. "Take yours off."

The warthog doesn't. "Superintendent Tad White is on to what you and Gretchen are up to. He's gonna put an end to the school. B.O.E officers destroyed the school's insurance money."

"That's bull," says Bradley. "The B.O.E, the Superintendent, whoever James Stone is, are all the ones responsible. I don't know how but they all are." He takes a moment to think. "Destruction is a form of creation. The fact that they destroyed the high school's insurance money is ironic to be honest. They just wanted to see what happens when they tear our world apart." I feel him move his head across at the warthog. "What happened to your heart?"

"That's beautiful. Is that poetry?" he replies.

 _"Ha. Ha._ Why do we call you Menlo?"

"It is the name of my father, and his father before me. I was bad student, if you can remember? Ever since I found the power of the ball point pen, I've never looked back. My first name is something that never struck the right cord with me. The name Menlo just stuck. It's Tyler, by the way. Tyler Menlo."

It is Menlo. What's going on here?

Bradley sighs feeling uneasy. "Menlo? When's this all going to stop?"

"You should already know that," he replies.

Bradley giggles. _  
_

"I want you to watch the movie screen," he says. "There's something I want to show you." I divert my eyes a little. A hole appears on the huge screen in front of us. "Maddie Feldman is right. We're all characters and puppets in a fictional story. We're based on a TV show. Our own fate is out of our control."

"You're crazy," Bradley replies.

"But you've felt it too, right? Time shifts. Everything we say seems scripted and yet some stuff have random typos where it shouldn't have."

"Does that mean _I'm_ crazy too, then?" asks Bradley.

"Have you ever seen a plot hole?" he asks. Within the portal appearing on the movie screen it shows Tad White's house in a flash. _"_ Blow it sky high."

Bradley puts up his hood. I feel him look over at me. I shut my eyes. He carefully lays my head back.

I feel myself drift off again.

* * *

I'm awake.

The film is playing the credits. I slept through the whole thing. Bradley's gone. Menlo disappeared too. I'm all alone in the cinema.

I leave the cinema and run down the sidewalk looking for him. I feel inside my pockets. I check everywhere. My keys for the AP science lab are missing. Bradley must of taken them.

I head over to Tad White's big house. I find a random box to vault over his gate with. This month I've really been exerting myself physically. More than ever.

Bradley. He's facing Tad White's house. He has bubbling beakers full of chemicals in his hands.

"Bradley! Stop!" I shout.

Bradley continues looking forward at the house like he's under a trance. "Go home, Gretchen. I have to do this. I have to go back and help TJ break out once and for all. It's the only way. I'm smart enough to do it. _You know that."_

"But we're getting close to solving the case. This isn't the only way. This is just what Tad White wants. This—"

Bradley turns around at me. "It's cool you wanna save me, but don't incriminate yourself too. Go home."

He walks towards the house.

I run in between him and the house. "I'll punch you. In the face," I threaten. He keeps walking. I swing a right hook at his face, but he catches my fist in his hand. Bradley kisses the back of my hand sarcastically. He leaves me and carries on walking. "Do you want to kiss me?"

Bradley stops. He turns back and leans forward to kiss me. I flinch and move away from is face just as he does. Bradley shakes his head frustrated and moves back on course to Tad's house

"Look, Bradley! Wait!"

"I like you a lot, but I gotta do this. I have to go back. TJ needs me."

"I just want our first kiss to be, at a time when it—"

"When what?" Bradley asks, stopping.

"When it reminds me just—"

"When it reminds you how beautiful the world can be?" Bradley asks, with a sensitive cute smirk.

"Yeah."

I walk up to him. I hold his arms. He just studies my face not doing anything. I force my lips on to his almost giving him a headbutt. I would have sucker punched his face if he didn't weave his head back. We interlock our lips. He drops the beakers. I open my eyes a little still kissing him. Chemicals react on the asphalt and spew out rainbow colored, probably hazardous, smoke. It floats around us in a mist. We move our mouths away from each other. I stare at his eyes. He stares back. The chemical eats through the concrete and makes a line in between us. It reacts on the ground as it is physically tearing us apart.

Bradley looks intently at the stream of chemicals. It looks like he's making it move almost. It blazes into a fire and leads towards Tad's house. It rolls inside the house. The house catches fire. It engulfs into bright blue-green-pink flames.

Pyrotechnic colorant.

Bradley holds his hand out. I hold his hand. We both watch Tad's house as it slowly burns.

* * *

 **Bradley watches my lips as I speak** and I convince Mr Dude on the other side of the teacher's lounge to let us in. The teacher's lounge is the adult equivalent of our study hall. Sofa's instead of beanie chairs. Coffee machines instead of vending machines. All the teacher's mingle with other teacher's they trust to hang out with. Mr Cutter is by himself constructing something, whilst Miss Rosemary talks to three teacher's around her. Bradley heads over to Dr Watson by the open window. Her eyes widen as she tries to hide her marijuana in front of us. She can not find an ashtray, it seems, and mellows out with a sigh.

"Dr Watson?" Bradley asks.

"Yes?" she exhales out with smoke looking directly at me. "Sorry but I can not break down the entire high school syllabus. You have to wait. We value _your_ break, so please value _ours_."

Bradley waves his hand in her direction. "It's just _me_ with the question Dr Watson. Gretchen's my, er, girlfriend. It's on time portals. How can someone travel through time?"

"Oh," she gasps, turning her head and noticing Bradley for the first time. "Hmm," she hums stubbing out her weed joint on the windowsill. "Now, _that's_ an interesting topic. Well, each vessel travels along a vector through space-time, along its center of gravity. In order for the vessel to travel through time it's got to find a portal, or in this case a wormhole."

"Could these portals just appear anywhere, anytime?" asks Bradley.

"I think that's highly unlikely. No, I think what you're talking about is an act of God."

"If God controls time, then all time is pre-decided."

"Come again?"

"Every living thing follows along a set path. And if you could see your path or channel then you could see into the future, right? Like, that's a form of time travel."

"Well, you're contradicting yourself, Bradley. If we were able to see our destinies manifest themselves visually, then we would be given a choice to betray our chosen destinies. And the mere fact that this choice exists would make all pre-formed destiny come to an end."

"Not if you travel within God's channel," says Bradley, taking out a comic that's been tucked on his side. "You see, in Fearless Mortuary Kid Mysteries comic books, Mordecai Mortuary can see what the author sees and subsequently can travel through time. God writes our timeline like a story in a book. Like I'm a character. Like jumping out of a comic strip. Like I'm living outside a fan fiction right now."

Dr Watson lights another smoke. Bradley walks to the side to another teacher.

"What's your two cents, Gretchen?" she asks.

"Not to be a downer, but I don't think it matters if you go back in time or ahead in time," I reply. "You can't change the timeline because everything that has ever happened, is happening, or will happen are all happening at the same time. Just stating the physics."

Bradley has moved over to Miss Schwartz who was reading her book.

"Your character is breaking the fourth wall so that's how he can travel the speed of plot," Miss Schwartz explains.

"So, the only way you can be a character in a fan fiction story and know that you _are_ in one, is if you break the fourth wall?" he asks.

Dr Watson walks over. "Not unless you're the living receiver," says Dr Watson. "You get to have fourth dimensional powers too."

"What?" I ask.

"Here's a book on the philosophy of time travel," Dr Watson goes, handing me over a book. She turns to Bradley. "Now, imagine we are in a primary universe right now. Call that the fan fiction to your story if you want. A tangent universe is highly unstable and it only sustains itself for no longer than several weeks."

"Like 28 days?" I ask.

"That's right," she replies to me, then looking back at Bradley. "So, if we were talking fan fiction then a tangent universe would probably be, the equivalent, of a crossover. The characters from one fictional story world would meet with the characters of another when they're not supposed to. Now this book talks about the manipulated dead, the manipulated living, as well as the living receiver whose randomly chosen and gets to have strength, telekinesis, mind control, and the ability to conjure fire and water. He's supposed to bring an artifact back to the primary universe, by any means, or otherwise we're all." She slides her thumb across her throat. "Forming a black hole capable of destroying all existence."

Bradley looks inquisitive. "What artifact? You mean something that holds magical powers or something?"

"No. Artifacts are formed from metal. It's just a sign to alert the living receiver, like hey 'we're in a tangent universe right now!' And if it's done right, then, and only then, will everyone from the tangent universe, wake up from a dream back into the primary one, all snug tight like a little bow."

Miss Schwartz laughs saying, "A cop out for an end of to any story, if you ask me," before returning back to her literature novel.

I turn to Dr Watson. "Why don't you ever answer questions for me like that?" I ask.

"You're kinda boring, Gretchen," Dr Watson sighs.

"No she's not," Bradley goes, standing up for me. "She's weird, but she's not boring."

Bradley and I leave the teacher's lounge.

We walk together down the hallway. We're not the only ones together. Spinelli and Troy are making out against the lockers. Troy's hands are gripped around Spinelli's waist. Spinelli pushes back her lips on to his with their hard kiss being symmetrical in it's rigorousness.

Bradley and I just look at them. We look at each other. It's making us feel unsure with our own relationship. At least, well, it's making me feel like that. How many past boyfriends and girlfriends must Troy and Spinelli had to have in order kiss with so much chemistry like that? When did they even get together?

We go to the cafeteria for lunch.

Fillmore and Ingrid are by a table, so we join them. Both of them are blank unreadable figures. It's clear we've ran out of leads. It's been two weeks. We've interrogated every single teacher now. New and old.

Mikey is sitting alone with Ashley T. Vince is with Ashley B. Menlo is dating Ashley A. What? They're sharing two straws in a milk carton together.

How did that happen? That's inconceivable.

Gus is dating Molly now. They're feeding each other with lunch food. Fingers Malloy with Kumiko. Deshay with Chrystal. There are couples everywhere. Everyone in the school is in a relationship. Even the food is paired together. Apples to oranges. Jelly with Pudding. Is this the tangent universe that Dr Watson is talking about? Bradley and I have seemed to influence everyone in school. Everyone can't be capable of loving each other like this at exactly the same time. It's illogical.

I play with the voo doo doll I've been keeping in my back pocket. I sigh and leave it on the table. Bradley picks it up and starts stabbing it a little bit with his spork. I wanna stop him. I like the little doll, but, I don't feel like it. I divert my eyes. The school sports commentator is whaling out in pain holding his stomach. He must've ate something bad. Now he's swiping his tray across the room. He moves back against the wall. What's happening to him? Ingrid notices too. It's catching more and more attention. Ingrid looks at what Bradley's doing. She nudges Fillmore to look at the commentator too and she points at the voo doo doll.

Bradley looks at me. He looks at the commentator. He stretches the arms of the doll. The commentator's arms stretch out across his sides.

We can make the commentator move to our will. Jeff Werthing is Mr Foley. Mr Foley is James Stone.

The commentator is facing us. Fillmore, Ingrid, Bradley and I face him off in a slight slowed-down showdown. He screws his eyes at us. He runs out of the cafeteria.

Fillmore slides across the table. Ingrid jumps up, sliding her food tray out of the way. I get up with Bradley **  
**

 _["Act 3: Crazy is what crazy does"]_

as we run full pelt out of the cafeteria. The commentator makes Troy and Spinelli stop kissing and move against the wall as he runs passed. We run after him. Bradley tosses the doll for me to manipulate him. I twist it's head. I poke it's little eyes. The commentator keeps running. I'm not doing it correctly. We slide across another hallway. The commentator pushes people into our way. I throw the doll at Ingrid. She tries to use it but she can't do it either. She throws it back to Bradley as he runs ahead with Fillmore.

The sounds of the lockers smash. We catch up. Bradley makes the commentator slip up. A person in Bradley's way make him drop it, making our perp get away. Bradley slides for the doll on the ground, putting it's little hands over it's small head and slamming it against a locker.

The commentator slams against the locker with his hands over his head.

Fillmore gets his breath back and looks at our suspect. "For your sake, you better be our guy," says Fillmore.

He takes the commentator by his arms and leads him to the interrogation room as Ingrid, Bradley and I follow.

We cuff him up to the desk.

Ingrid holds up the picture of James Stone against the commentator's head. "Spot the difference," she goes. Bradley, Fillmore and I don't say anything. "That's right. There aren't any, besides this obvious disguise. Just a make over."

Fillmore motions at the commentator. "Go on! Tell us the truth!"

"You can't handle the," Jeff Werthing says, as he begins to wheeze out in laughter. "Okay. I kid, I kid. Could you pull my cuffs loose so I can show you?" Fillmore motions Bradley to stand by the door. He undoes Jeff Werthing's cuffs. The commentator roughs up his hair harder and harder, making it shred off. He rubs his make up off. His prosthetic nose dangles off. He looks really rough now. He looks like James Stone as I remember him four and a half years ago. But really worse for wear. "Right and wrong are determined by the people who hold positions of authority, that's the way it has always been, so what is this truth you want from me? Don't you see that _truth_ long ago became a shadow of itself, it's a mere echo of the past now. The world is one big moral grey area. If it just makes you feel safer that you feel that everyone can be categorized into good and bad, then _kudos_. But that's not actually how it works. There's levels to my debauchery."

Ingrid studies him. "We know your motive, but how did you ever escape Unhinged Avenue asylum?"

James Stone laughs again. "I didn't escape. I was released by the same man that forged my freedom papers, who dictated Menlo to help me become a teacher, who promised me a chance to destroy the kids who ruined me, and who gave me a surplus of supplies to adorn all my different disguises."

"Whose that?" I ask.

"Really?" James Stone asks, taking a moment to look around at us. "All of that break down and you four still can't work out which authoritarian I'm referring to?"

"Egad!"

Bradley reacts from the door. "It had to be!" Bradley laughs.

Fillmore looks out of the loop. "What is it?"

"Can't you see?" I say to Fillmore and Ingrid as Bradley has seemed to work it out too. "It all makes sense now. James Stone is nothing more but another victim being strung along like TJ and I were."

"But he played mind games with you guys."

Ingrid nods. "Yes, but Fillmore," she starts. "Gretchen's saying even though he's ideally our guy he's not the root of why the school is being spied on. Remember, James Stone was hired by the superintendent to spy on Third Street all those years ago, right? What if the same thing has happened again?"

"History _does_ have a funny way of repeating itself," says Fillmore.

Bradley walks away from guarding the door and goes up to James Stone. "Where's that stereotypical British villain _now_?"

* * *

I've missed so much of school, but my work hasn't suffered. I'm taking my knowledge for granted in this case.

Fillmore and Ingrid join me as we walk into the court of the board of education. Bradley had to leave as he has therapy now.

We walk in to the middle of one of Tad White's cases where there's a trial for another student from a different school taking place.

"Excuse me?" Tad White says, sitting in his high chair of the court. "You children can not barge in here, disturbing my—!"

Fillmore comes forward through the court's bar swinging gate doors. "We know superintendent."

Ingrid comes forward too. "We know James Stone has been Jeff Werthing as well as Mr Foley and the janitor in Thaddeus High school. We're also well aware that you manipulated him like you have been to every single student in that school as well as James Stone himself."

I come forward in front of Fillmore and Ingrid. "It was you who planted the bomb in the school, not TJ."

The courtroom gets rocked. The jury and the audience gasp. The typewriter stops typing. The bailiff and everyone look from us to Tad White.

Tad White smiles. He looks over the court. "Could everyone please step out and return at 12:55?" he asks. He slams his mallet as the jury and a boy getting prosecuted leave. We're left alone with him and his bailiff assistant. He stirs his tea and takes a sip from it. "I had to dismiss my courtroom for ten minutes of recess. This better be good."

"You promised Menlo free college admission so he could be your eyes and ears!" I shout.

"Writing a cover letter isn't wrong," Tad replies calmly.

"You released a mental patient when he is still insane!"

"A person's mental state and well being is a state of opinion."

"Your program forces to take our summer vacation away to have more detention!"

"You have _your_ methods. I have _mine."_

"You're stealing from Thaddeus T Third the fifth!" _  
_

"And where do you think his wealth comes from?"

"You—!"

"Excuse me, I'm still speaking," he says, cutting me off. "You know all great wealth comes from great crimes." He asks his bailiff to put the projector images on. Pictures of the principle come on. "Your principle is named Thaddeus Tinnerello Third the fifth. He is a multi businessman, and owner of many businesses. His grandfather is the namesake for Third Street school because of his love for teaching kids, and he's famous for paying back the debt for many banks and businesses in the recession. His grandfather before him, children, was a mobster."

Fillmore laughs, "No way."

Tad White continues, "It's all on the internet. I'm not making this up. Third's great ancestry of wealth stems from one of the oldest crime syndicates in America. In fact, it still affects us today. Robert Funicello Spinelli is the latest person to have a hit out on from the Third family mafia. He put his family's life in danger recently because of his C.I.A past, which he gave up for his daughter, I recall. He had to put his family in hiding for two years in Rome. Now they live here in Arkansas right now."

Ingrid looks pensive. "My great grand father was in the mafia?" she asks.

"Is your surname Third?" Tad asks.

"Yeah."

"Then I'd mostly guarantee it. I'm doing the right thing. There's only love in my eyes. I'm using Third's wealth in a loophole in the system to put his family's dirty blood money in the right hands. Principle Third was so eager to be principle that he signed his contract, unknowing that if any student steps out of accordance even once, I have the authority to improve the educational system of the school where I see fit. Now let me ask _you_ a question, Gretchen. If you had all this money, what would you do with it?"

"Help mankind, cure diseases and, and—" I start.

"And further education?" he asks, finishing what I was going to say. "Now will that be all? Or do I have to hold you all in contempt?" Fillmore and Ingrid look at me. The bailiff looks stern. We walk away. "Oh, and Gretchen, if you decide to come back again with your off again on again, trouble maker of a boyfriend, just to hide your true intentions of stopping our plans. Tell him that residents like mine are protected twenty four seven. So his fire starting antics was recorded. And don't worry, I'll put him into another juvenile detention center than Theodore Detweiler's, just in case he decides to do something stupid like trying to _bust him out_."

I walk back up to Tad's high desk. "You recorded our conversation too?" I ask, the bailiff pushing me back.

"You betcha!" Tad says mockingly. "Newer technology. You gotta love it. Now _get out_ of my courtroom before I get my bailiffs to _drag_ you out!"

We get escorted out of the building by more bailiffs.

We go back to school. Everyone from school is outside. The hipsters, the tech kids, the gang, the teachers, everyone. They're all talking amongst themselves. The B.O.E swat team with guns are keeping people back. I walk ahead of Fillmore and Ingrid and I maneuver through the crowd. The school has yellow tape across the doors. There is a notice on it. It says ' _Cease to Exist'_ instead of a ' _Cease and Desist'_ which would make more sense for a building. It says that the school will be ceased by the B.O.E exactly when Bradley's 28 days runs out. Two days from now.

"You're Gretchen."

I look away from the notice. It's a B.O.E officer is talking to me.

"Yes?" I reply.

"Have you seen Bradley Bravado?" the officer asks, adjusting his BB riot gun in his hands.

"No," I lie.

The B.O.E are already after him. If Tad White catches him he'll put him into a different juvie to TJ's. This is weird. I've never lied so calmly to an authority figure before.

Ingrid rubs my arm. "I'm sorry it had to end this way, Gretchen," she says, giving me a hug.

"It's not your fault," I reply, hugging her back.

Fillmore comes up to me next and gives me a hug too. "There's no accommodation anymore, so, we have to jet back to Minnesota," says Fillmore. He looks back at Ingrid. " _Some people_ still have to graduate."

All the intellect in the world's not going to help us. Violence is just going to get me in trouble. Where is principle Third in all this? He's been going from business meeting to business meeting in his private jet forever it seems. We're so hopeless. The only thing I can do is get that one person who could figure this all out. The true leader of the pack. The charm, the verve, the unmitigated moxie that is TJ Detweiler.

I say goodbye to Fillmore and Ingrid.

I walk home alone.

I go straight to Mom's office door. I knock on it.

There's no answer.

Spinelli does it all the time. She just walks in uninvited whenever she wants. I step inside. Bradley's on the sofa bed, lying down with his eyes closed.

Mom gives me a disapproving look. She turns her attention back to Bradley. "So, tell me about your week," she says.

"I've just been thinking a lot about someone," Bradley replies. "A girl."

Bradley must be under hypnosis. I stand by the door with my arms crossed.

"What is her name?" Mom continues.

"Gretchen," Bradley replies. Mom looks back at me. "We're going out now."

"Do you still think about girls a lot?" Mom asks.

"Yeah."

"How are things going at school?"

"I think about girls a lot."

"I asked you about school, Bradley."

"I think about _making out with_ girls a lot during school."

"What else do you think about during school?"

"Being married with children and stuff."

"Do you think about your family?"

"I just turn down the volume and think about making out with Molly Sanchez."

"I asked you about your family, Bradley."

"No. I don't think about _making out_ with my family. That's gross."

"I want to talk about you and your parents. Do you have any memories in your past that you're fond of?"

"No I don't. They didn't buy me what I wanted for Christmas."

"What did you want for Christmas that year?"

"Bonky the green dragon."

"How did you feel being denied this, 'Bonky green dragon'?"

"Regret."

"What else makes you feel regret?"

"That I did it again."

"You did it _what_ again?"

"I flooded my school and I burned down that fascist's house," Bradley laughs. "I only have a few days left before they catch me, then I won't be able to figure out what this is all about. I won't be able to know his master plan."

"Do you mean, the writer's master plan?"

"I have the power to build a time machine."

I step in closer in front of Mom and Bradley. "How is that possible?" I ask.

"How is time travel possible? Bradley? When is this going to happen?" Mom asks too.

"Soon," Bradley replies, his eyes still shut all this time and under Mom's hypnotherapy.

"What is going to happen?"

"The universe is gonna end," says Bradley, opening his eyes. He gets up and retrieves a Bonky from Mom's bookshelf and hugs it tight. He hasn't noticed me. He's still under hypnosis. "They're watching. Reading, listening to our every word. I'm famous, like, everything in my past was a TV show. But. We got revived somehow. Bought back from the dead. Bought back from being cancelled—Ah!" He screams looking at the blank wall as he falls to his knees. Mom hugs him on the floor. "I see him! Menlo! He's telling me to kill!" He starts laughing again. "And I have to obey him. He saved my life. I have to obey the audience watching me right now too, they saved _all_ our lives. TJ is the hero. I'm the villain. Fan fiction is our resurrection. We're dead otherwise. But it's almost too late. I can see it. The sky is gonna open up—"

"If the sky were to suddenly open up, there would be no law, there would be no rule," Mom says. "There would be only you and your memories, the choices you've made and the people you've touched." She claps her hands and Bradley wakes up from being hypnotized. Bradley is still on the floor. He looks around, realizing where he is and he notices me. They both get up on to their feet. "You can stop taking your medication now. They're placebos, just pills made out of sugar. Bradley, grandiose delusions is when someone thinks that they're famous or otherwise very powerful. But what you have is a different delusion. A persecutory delusion is when someone thinks they're constantly being tormented, followed, tricked, spied on, or even ridiculed."

"Goodnight, Dr Grundler," Bradley replies, not looking at her when he does. "Late Gretchen."

Bradley leaves.

"What's wrong with Bradley?" I ask.

"Bradley is suffering from Truman Syndrome," Mom sighs. "It's the delusion in which patients believe their lives are staged plays or even television shows."

* * *

 **Bradley opens his front door for me to his party.** He has his grey hoody over his head. I walk inside Bradley's house to the loud music. It's the end of school. There's technically a few weeks till it's officially summer vacation but school is closed. We're gonna need to look for new schools. Vince's team won the football championship. So I guess that's what everybody is celebrating. Because there's nothing _to_ celebrate besides that.

The whole gang is here. Vince, Spinelli, Mikey, Gus and Maddie. Maddie is free to be with Paige now as her girlfriend. Everyone's all paired up. The same ones from earlier in the week in the cafeteria. Menlo and Ashley A's relationship is still the most far fetched. Menlo hugs Ashley A from behind. He has his red warthog mascot outfit on, with the head off. Ashley A looks at him. He looks at her. They kiss. Slowly and meaningfully. Am I the only one reading too much into this?

Bradley takes me by the hand as we walk up his stair case. I'm not worried that Bradley's trying to temped me into have sex. It's not even because I completely trust him, I do. It just seems like his bedroom has a big gaping whole on the top of it. He has no roof to his room. There's no privacy whatsoever here. There's a ladder he leads me up on. He helps pull me up gracefully.

We sit on the roof. We watch people enjoying the party from our view. There's someone bouncing on the trampoline. The music is more tolerable and less loud from up here.

Bradley doesn't look at me. "Hows it feel to have a wacko for a boyfriend?" he asks.

"It feels wonderful," I reply, staring back at him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not letting you touch me."

Bradley sweeps his head around at me. "Don't say that," he says, almost raising his voice. "Don't ever say that to anyone. If you wanna keep to yourself don't make me or anyone change that." He calms down. "I mean, it's, you know, okay. You don't have to do anything. Ever. Okay?"

"I'm asexual," I announce.

"I'm not really aware of the exact differences with these terms but, okay."

"I don't get desires to be physical and I don't act like I'm in love in front of people at all," I reply. "It's not like I don't get that feeling to kiss you sometimes, I just choose not act on it, and, I just don't like being touched, but I don't wanna be like that. I feel like a machine sometimes. I mean, my dad—"

"Yeah," says Bradley. "I haven't seen that guy. Where is he in all this?"

"In Antarctica conducting tests," I reply. My mouth gets weak. "I really really hate my mom. She never talks about him, like, like he doesn't exist. My dad is always away. Everything is science, mental arithmetic, knowledge. I don't wanna be someone like her who doesn't know how to feel. I wish I wasn't smart sometimes. I wish I could kiss you all the time. I wish I could be normal."

"You're wrong," says Bradley. "Being normal is boring. And you're not boring, remember? Also, you never have to dumb it down when you're around me."

Bradley smiles at me. I kiss him head on. I smack his nose with mine.

"Sorry," I say, holding my nose.

"Look, I know your dad's in Antarctica right now, but there's no need to jump to Eskimo kissing," he says, grinning. "Okay, you put your hand in my hand." I follow what Bradley's doing. "Now, tilt your head 40 degrees, like this." I move my head. "Now, just move your lips when I move them, okay?"

"Okay."

I put his hood down. We kiss. We kiss for what seems like an eternity. Which is so scientifically implausible, but it does. Bradley has to stop me. He says his lips are sore. We sit straight, still on the roof, going back and forth about random things, whilst the party is still going on without us downstairs.

"What is it to be in love?" I ask. "It's not just chemical reactions that occur in your brain, is it?"

"It can be whatever you want to be," he replies. "I think that's sort of the point. It's the feeling of wanting someone, and when you do, you can't get enough of them."

"So it's addiction."

"Probably," Bradley says, shrugging. "It's like, too much of a good thing will tear you apart sooner or later. I think when you're in love you don't really think about that. Just saying you're in love is like a cliché of a cliché of it's self. It doesn't even hold weight anymore."

"So what's a better word than love?" I ask once more.

"Swag."

"Really?"

"No. I dunno. You're the genius you tell me."

We look at the stars for a second.

Bradley and I make our way down stairs, holding each others hands smiling. No one was even aware we had gone. Bradley lets go of my hand. He walks jaggedly towards the kitchen. He stops. He holds his head and then he holds the side of the open door for support.

"Bradley, what's wrong?" I ask him. "Are you okay?"

Bradley's front door caves in. Officers rush in with B.O.E stretched across their bullet proof vests. They smash through the windows. The music is playing. It's taking everyone a second to realize what's going on. Some girls scream because of the swat team. Some scream in delight of the party. Everything is muffled out.

Menlo is still waving his arms about. He has his mascot head on. He's in full costume. An officer says step back. Menlo can't hear him. The B.O.E officer points his BB gun towards Menlo. Another officer comes in late to the party. Virtually speaking.

He shoots Menlo through the chest. Straight through the heart. A hole from one side to the other.

Menlo falls backwards.

It's a real gun.

The music screeches off. Everyone's in panic.

"What the—?" goes the B.O.E officer, who was the one detaining properly. "That wasn't part of the plan!"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," goes the officer who shot Menlo. "He told me to and that you would understand."

I run over to the scene. "Ashley A, put pressure on his wound!" I shout, as the first officer goes over to Menlo's body.

Vince looks on. "Menlo's got no wound _to pressure."_

Ashley A lays next to Menlo. "What the hells your problem? You killed my boyfriend!"

"Is he gonna be okay?" asks the officer who shot him.

"Dude?" Troy goes. "Have you ever ate a sawed-off to the heart before?"

"Not without a vest," he replies, as he then turns to the officer by Menlo. "You texted me 'bring your shotgun BB' so—"

Spinelli scoffs, "So, what?"

"I thought you were calling me baby, like you're calling me you're you know, you're, baby," the officer mumbles holding out his phone.

Menlo stops moving.

Bradley shakes his head. "Gretchen, we gotta go. We're running out of time," he says, holding my hand.

"But Bradley!" I go.

"Bradley?" asks the first officer. "Bradley Bravado? We have a warrant on your arrest."

The B.O.E go after Bradley. The gang block off the B.O.E and a fight ensues. Bradley and I run back upstairs. I'm pulled back by my leg. An officer has a hand on me. Vince pulls the officer from behind and away from my ankle. Troy jumps from the staircase tackling the guard on Vince. Ashley A's still crying over Menlo's body. Menlo's helmet still on top of his head. Bradley and I break out to his bedroom. He climbs on top of his ladder and pulls me up.

Bradley looks at the hole in his roof and back down to his trampoline in his garden. "Okay," he starts. "We have to jump off the roof."

"Okay!" I reply.

Bradley pushes me back a little. "Really, you're not scared? Uh. Cool. Thought I had to convince you." He looks to the side with a chuckle and widens his eyes. "Sorry," he says.

He pushes me off the roof. I land bouncing on the trampoline and over his fence. Looking over, Bradley pushes an officer off the roof. Bradley jumps on the trampoline himself. He lands next to me on the ground. I help him up. He runs to a car and hits the window with his elbow.

"Ow crap!" Bradley cries, holding his elbow in pain, with the car window still in tact. "Video games make it look so easy."

I pick up a rock and throw it through the car side window. Bradley breaks into the car. I go in the passenger seat. He drives off.

He drives all the way to the park. We get out the car and walk to the swings. We sit down on the swings and try to calm down. Still full of adrenaline.

There is a storm in front of us. Wind whirling around uncontrollably.

"You know what?" Bradley asks.

"What?" I reply.

"I think Menlo was meant to die. Menlo and Ashley A? Like, _come on!_ This is the tangent universe. Menlo must be the manipulated dead trying to guide me."

"That can't be right," I say.

I wonder if the cinema encounter was real.

I look at Bradley. "Tad White said in court that principle Third signed this contract, and because someone acted out, we all have to suffer for it. Now Thad High is gonna be his for him to change to whatever he wants."

"So, as long as Third is principle, Tad White is gonna do whatever he wants, is that what your saying?" he asks.

I nod. "So, what are you gonna do?"

"Kill him," he replies. I look back at him. "Third."

"Third?" I shout, as the winds get heavier. "What? Kill the principle? Are you crazy?"

"Haven't you caught up yet?" Bradley replies. "Yes. Yes I am. I'm the living receiver. I manipulated water. The Atomic flush experiment worked because I wanted it to, it was hardly coordinated properly. I can manipulate fire. I blew up Tad's house. I even have telekinesis, Gretchen. Only I could use the voodoo doll to manipulate James Stone."

"Ah! Manipulate. Manipulate. Ugh, that word has lost all meaning now," I moan. "That's all illogical. It could have been a water plumbing fail with just a few toilets. The chemicals were already reacting and the trail of fire could have been a spontaneous combustion."

"Gretchen?"

"Okay, I can't explain the voodoo doll, but if you're the living receiver you're supposed to manipulate metal."

Bradley looks at the storm in the clouds. It's getting worse. There's a plane in the sky. Bradley stares at it. It's going closer to the storm. There's a vortex opening up, similar to the plot hole in the movie theater. This is real. This is happening. Wait. It looks like Thaddeus T Third's private plane. The plane jet engine comes loose and goes through the vortex. The rest of the plane disappears into another one.

If Bradley is the living receiver then he really does have fourth dimensional powers. He sent that artifact back in time to the primary universe. The crossover must have been Fillmore and Ingrid. They have their own TV show too. Or maybe _had_. Past tense. Them coming to our universe has caused a rift and has made these 28 days an alternate reality. A tangent universe.

"The only way we can be together is if I let our TV show universe check out," Bradley says. "It's the writer's plan. The only way we can be together is if this plot hole loopholes and repeats this story over and over again. And who would read the same fan fiction again? A real book, maybe. Maybe it's the last night. No one wants to see an abandoned story, do they?"

Bradley puts up his hood and steps away from his swing seat.

"What's gonna happen to you?" I ask him.

"Dunno," he replies, looking up in the sky. "He'll write me off most likely. I'll be lost in the future, probably."

Bradley walks off.

"The school ending! You think it will really happen? In the present universe?"

Bradley turns around. "Yeah! Maybe there's another improbable, illogical and baseless plot to change our story!" he says, smiling. "Late!"

He walks away into the darkness.

I look at my watch. The last seconds are going down for the 28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds.

The wind is getting worse.

My eyes are watering.

I close my eyes.

* * *

 **The children have to save themselves these days because the parents have no clue.** It's been that way forever. It's a bit inconceivable how my friends and I can keep having these adventures out of the ordinary. I rise from my bed. I smother the face of my Albert Einstein alarm clock. My Galileo app starts rib-biting. It's my new brain training questions being reset, as it's now downloading itself automatically from the app store. My script for Bradley and I self prints from my printer as I retrieve it with a quick swoop. I maneuver through my room, having a look at my failed experiment. Its the right specifications. Everything about it is correct to a science. But, unfortunately, it just doesn't work.

My time machine is just a pipe dream.

Mom's already left once I'm dressed as I leave my usual early time to go to school. A small breakfast bar in hand. Nothing out of the ordinary. Earliness is the key to achieving accomplishments. It's just that today I'm venturing on a different route. I could ride my Ruddler's Red Rocket? Yes. Routines can always have a shake up, no matter what I'm already used to doing.

I cycle towards Bradley's house.

There's a small crowd of people nestled outside near a house. It's hard to make out which one. Police cars parked outside. On closer inspection, t _hat is_ Bradley's home. There is a yellow caution tape blocking people from going any further than a couple yards in front of his home. Everyone here is looking upwards. The postman. The B.O.E in suits. The intrigued neighbors. Oh my, and I can see why.

A jet engine.

I stay behind the crowd. I can see Spencer.

"Spencer? What's going on?"

"My neighbor almost bit the big one," replies Spencer.

"What happened?" I ask.

"A jet engine fell from the sky and smashed through his room. They still can't find his body. _Weird, huh?_ It's smaller than one of those gigantic airplane ones. He would of got smooshed otherwise."

"A private jet?"

"Mhmm."

"Whats his name?"

"Bradley. Bradley Bravado. Do you know him?"

"Kind of."

"You know where he went?"

"No."

The fixers remove the jet engine from Bradley's roof on to the back of a lorry. I got this script ready for Bradley to pretend to break up under President CJ's orders, for nothing.

"Nice bike," says Spencer.

"Thanks," I reply. "It's a Ruddler's Red Rocket, actually. Early alloy construction. Rock hard titanium flite saddles. A single front shifter on the down tube. They don't make 'em like these anymore."

"Those are really old. Red Rockets don't come out anymore."

"I know. It got discontinued. I never ventured to learn why though."

"Maybe it's because red rockets are dog boners. In case you didn't know."

"Ergh!" I gag, all grossed out. "I didn't."

"Well, they are," says Spencer. "It wouldn't sound really cool riding Ruddler's Dog Boner, would it?"

I screw up my face repulsed, but, Spencer has got a point.

I cycle away to school. Thad high is just how it's always been. I walk inside and kill some time studying. I catch myself looking into space just thinking about Bradley. Is it possible to have a dream that feels like it spans for four weeks? Is that possible? I'll just most likely research about lucid dreams until it bores me, which, would take a long time to.

I knock on Third's door. There's no reply. I want to just walk in, like Spinelli, but it's locked anyway. I'm supposed to go to Minnesota to see Third's niece.

"Gretchen!"

I look around. It's Geoffrey.

"Here you go," he continues, giving me a five dollar note. "See, I told you I'd pay you back tomorrow."

I look around and I see Menlo walk down the hall.

"Are you okay?" Geoffrey asks me.

"Yeah," I reply. I take the five dollar note. "Thanks."

"No, _thank you_. I just feel better today, you know? Like, I just feel really really good today."

"Good," I reply, as Geoffrey walks away.

I go to the vending machine.

Everything that occurred in my dream was too intense for it not to be real fan fiction. If that even makes sense? Real and fiction are opposites.

A Deux Ex Machina has literally fallen from the sky this morning. There's no Principle Third so I can't go to Minnesota to see his niece graduate. There's no Bradley so I can't do CJ Rottweiler's assignment.

I can see Gus talking to Mikey in the corner of my eye.

I push down the buttons hard.

I hit the vending machine until my Angry Dragon energy drink rolls out.

**[PLAY SONG "Chairlift - Ch-Ching" AT THIS POINT]**


	13. Operation: Save TJ

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 12

Gus POV

* * *

 **"If love is beauty and love is blind,**

And it's out of sight and out of mind,

Then how can you be with me still?

Like hummingbird and daffodil?

Already dead, Morning dew may dampen grass,

But not our love that's here to last," I say, as I finish read my poem out loud to Mikey.

"Heard it," Mikey replies.

"But I did it myself," I say. "It took me ages to write. I went down into the depths of my soul and everything."

"That's Jared's poem."

I read through my poem on the paper through my head again. "Oh no! _It is!_ But I thought I—"

"Came up with it yourself?" asks Mikey, ending what I was about to say. "It's one of the many perils of being an artist. You hear something _days, weeks,_ even _years_ until it comes back to you in a form of an idea. Happens all the time."

It came to me in a fantastical dream. A really dramatic dream. Bradley kept mentioning Jared Smith, when he broke up with Gretchen, when he pretended to be him in the auditorium. Aw man. He sure mocked the heck out of that superintendent. I guess Jared Smith read the poem in front of class in Third Street all those years ago and I just remembered it in my head.

"What am I gonna tell Molly now?" I ask, grasping my head as I lean my elbow on my locker.

Mikey is locked on to my opened locker. He slowly takes my BB gun pellet ammo out. The case it's held in is in the shape of a grenade. "Gus. You've got a weapon in your locker. Candid love knows no bounds, but I think there should be if you happen to have any grenades involved."

"Huh?" I say, taking out my grenade case from him and twirling it in my hand. "It isn't real, Mikey. It just holds BB gun pellets."

Bradley suggested I should use these to protect Kelso's in my dream. It's like a sign or something. **  
**  
Gretchen takes large strides towards us, taking sips of her drink. "Guys. We're having a meeting at— _hey, nice aluminum pellets,_ are they the biodegradable kind?" asks Gretchen, looking down at them.

"Close," I reply. "They're the diamond grade 66mm pellets for Bad-boy air rifles for all intentional purposes."

I stop and grip my hand on Gretchen's shoulder. I stare down at the ammo grenade case in my other hand. It has _'Hecho en Mexico'_ written on it. It was made in Mexico. Dad keeps stressing to me about his open day in his HQ in Mexico. Teej is in Mexico. Lieutenants can give licenses.

Mexico, plus, license, minus TJ out of juvie, equals best plan ever.

"Gus?" asks Gretchen, looking at my hand on her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Oh," I say, taking my hand off her. "I think I got an idea."

"A new poem?" Mikey asks.

"No, a way to save TJ," I say, with purpose and might.

I shut my locker and make my way down the hall.

"Gus!" says Mikey. "You don't know where we're going yet."

"Oh," I say, stopping in my tracks.

I hear Gretchen nudge Mikey as I'm still facing away from them. " _Don't distract him. Every spark of an idea brims on a stem of genius. Besides, I was gonna bring it up eventually,_ " whispers Gretchen to Mikey.

"Where's the meeting gonna be?" I ask Gretchen.

"Study hall," she replies.

I walk back the other way in the right direction.

We go inside study hall. Geoffrey is already there on time rattling his fingers on a desk. He waves us over. We wait for more people to turn up. Maddie comes next. She gives us all high fives and lies on top of the table. Her excuse is that it's too early in the morning and she's half asleep. Spinelli comes in throttling Vince on the back of his varsity jacket. She sits him down by the chair next to the table herself.

"Now, you're not going anywhere," Spinelli says to Vince, with anger. "If you wanna be part of this group, you start _now_."

"I got practice," Vince moans.

"You want me to go practice with my fists?" asks Spinelli, brawling a fist close to his face.

Spinelli smiles back at us all when she gets Vince to sit still.

Molly comes in. My heart stops. She sort of sneaked up on me. It's hard sometimes to recognize her with brunette hair. Her prettiness still shines through. Oh my god. It _so_ does.

"Hi, everyone!" Molly greets us sitting down. " _What's going on?_ "

Maddie rolls over, still lying on top of the table, and takes my rucksack to lay her head on.

I turn away from Maddie and look back at Molly to answer her. "I've got a way to get to Mexico," I say, standing in front of everyone else, who are either sitting, or lying down.

"Cools," says Molly. "Why are we going to Mexico?"

Spinelli lowers her head over at Molly. "To save TJ, Moles," Spinelli explains, with disdain. "This is what this _whole_ meeting is about."

"Oh," goes Molly. "Take it away, Gus."

"Yeah, so, we can't drive in Arkansas until we're sixteen and a half, right?" I start. "But I've been reading it up. You can drive before that. Either if you're married—"

"Awww," Maddie goes, with her eyes closed.

"And if you're considered _head of the household,"_ I keep saying. "Or if you've already earned a high school diploma, a GED, or, if you are an active duty member of the U.S. military."

"Gus," Vince goes. "You're not any of those, man."

"The thing is, is that my dad has always been bugging for me to join the army."

" _Yeah,_ " says Spinelli. "Since forever. Since you were born."

"But here's the thing too, Spin. It's an open day to become a real army recruit for one day. You see, my dad is organizing this event in his military base just a few miles from where Teej is locked up. I'm allowed two guests at a time, it's during the week, so we're almost certain to miss school. So, if I can convince my dad to give me official commission, cause he's a lieutenant and I'm quite sure he has authority to, I can get him to give me a full license. We drive there. Ditch the army lecture. Break into juvie, and sneak TJ back over the boarder. I call it, operation _Break TJ out of juvie_."

Everyone has fallen silent. Spinelli makes an unreadable face.

"Mmmm!" Maddie murmurs, on the table, opening her eyes a little at me. "Just so you know, everyone. TJ can break out of juvie himself. James Stone told me before my coma that he has before. All TJ needs is transportation, cause he's in the middle of no where."

"Wow!" Spinelli says to Maddie and then looks up at me. She gets up out of her seat and stands. She rocks me from side to side in joy and ruffles up my hair. "Look at the brain on you. Watch out, Gretch. You've got competition."

"Certainly," Gretchen replies, balancing her finger on her chin.

"So you're in, Gretch?" I ask her.

"Sorry Gus," starts Gretchen. "I'm sorry, but I have to decline. I've had perfect attendance since the first grade. It's really important to me."

Mikey takes his turn to speak. "I may have to step out this time from liberating a dear friend to freedom. It sounds like it could get violent and hairy. I'm all for prosperity and peace. I don't want to play a part in any violent means."

Molly flicks her eyes at me. "Gus, I'm so so sorry I have to give you an uber sad face right now. But I kinda fail to see what I can add if I come. If you can only bring two people, those two people have to be mega smart and resourceful and stuff, right?"

Geoffrey flicks his eyes towards Molly and then me. "What _she_ said."

Maddie breaths out and giggles. "That's what _she_ said, nah, dang, I said the joke wrong," she says. She opens her eyes at me. "Oh and Gus, I can't come either. I'm too tired."

"Oh," I say to all of them. "Spinelli?"

"Uh, yes, yes and yes," replies Spinelli. "Also my big brother Joey has the perfect pick up truck for us to use."

"Er, not any more," says Vince. "I kinda brought it off of him."

"Great!" I say. "That means you're coming then now, huh, Vince?"

"Well, nah," replies Vince. " _Technically_ the truck's Troy's now. I can't miss those detentions I have." He slaps his hands together. "You gotsta have Troy with you. He's the man when it comes to things like this. We broke into 98th school the other day thanks to him. You, Spin and Troy will make a _killer_ team."

" _Cool story,_ " Spinelli sighs. "But if it's _me_ who has to share seats in this operation with Troy, I'd rather scoff down some dead roadkill."

"Yeah," I say, agreeing with Spinelli. "If there's anyone I don't want coming with us. It's Troy."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Spinelli goes, making me slap a high five with her as it's ends up stinging my palm really hard.

Geoffrey looks at Vince and asks, "Harsh?"

"Hmm," goes Vince, turning to Geoffrey. "I dunno. Depends."

Molly twiddles her fingers and contributes. "Why don't we see what Troy thinks?" she asks.

"Yes," Gretchen says, with a sharp nod. "It may also depend on how he can contribute to this rescue."

Vince nods at me. "This is your meeting, Gus. It's your plan. It's up to you."

I'm unsure. I've never got along well with Troy. I'm worried this is not gonna work out how I've planned. The meeting is getting rowdy. Everyone is squabbling with one another. Spinelli is the center piece at this group argument going down right now. She's angry at how everyone is backing out.

"I can't believe you guys!" says Spinelli.

Vince turns in Spinelli's direction. "You heard Gus. He can only bring two people," says Vince.

"It don't matter," she replies. "We should all be _jumping_ at the chance at saving Teej and not whining like wussies. Mikey and Molly, sure, but not _you_ , Gretchen. You're _so_ important at time like this. You could make cold fusion out of a hot pocket."

"Thank you," Gretchen replies. "I'm not tarnishing my friendship at all it's just—"

"Your perfect attendance, yeah, you said—"

"Shut up!" Maddie shouts. "I'm trying to get back to the bestest best dream ever. But it wasn't a dream. It was school, but it was different and alternate. And _you._ " Maddie points at Gretchen. "And _you._ " Points at Spinelli. "And _you._ " To Geoffrey. "And _you_ were there." To me. "We _all_ were there. Everyone was in a couple, Bradley and Gretchen were the craziest. There were these chases in school. An interrogation room. This cute girl with bangs and green eyes. Not _you_ Spinelli, your eyes are all almond brown. It ended wild as heck, but, _what a dream_ , so if you can shut your mouth and suckle on Troy's mouth instead, I can get back to it."

Maddie rests her eyes shut again.

Spinelli is stunned. She clenches her fists. She's gonna explode any second. Vince can see Spinelli is winding up to go mad on her. He parts his head for me to go, and pulls me by the arm to get away.

Vince takes me away from everyone.

We walk on the ground floor hallway together.

Vince pats me on the back. "I meant what I said. You're the leader now. You decide everything. But. You gotta bring Troy with you."

"I really don't want to. Can't you come?" I ask him again.

"No can do, man," Vince replies. "I'm running out of final straws with Thad and even my parents." He pauses. "Am I missing something? Why don't you wanna bring Troy?"

"He hates me," I say, staring at the floor.

"Huh?" Vince says, standing still until I look back up at him. He parts his head for us to keep walking. "What makes you say that?"

"Seriously?" I ask, walking side by side again. "He _trips me up._ Pushes me over _constantly_. He _embarrassed_ me in front of everyone that one time. Sometimes I catch him just, looking at me."

"No one can hate you just by looking at you," laughs Vince.

"I know that. But when we all hang out, I catch him giving me long stares like he's disgusted of me."

"Gus. He picks on everyone. He's silly. That's his thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Vince goes, comforting my shoulder. He looks further behind me. "Don't look now, but that's him down the hall. He likes you, and I'll prove it to you."

We've walked towards Vince's locker without me even noticing. Vince opens his locker slightly ajar and cups his hands out for me to give a boost.

"Lockers in the hallway are too small," I say. "I can't fit in there."

Vince opens up his locker fully. It's bigger than everyone elses. It's wider. One half of it is yellow and pretty with soft cheetah print and cut outs of fashion magazines. The other side has green Pagan basketball colors.

"Ashley B moved in with me," Vince sighs. "Come on. If I have to cram you inside of my locker to prove to you he really likes you. I will."

Troy still hasn't noticed us yet. I look back at Vince and he seems adamant. I vault on to his hands and climb into his double sized locker. He closes the door. I crouch inside of it. I can see a view through the vents. I got a flashback to the girls changing room. What? I'm off balance slightly. The front door is not shut all the way.

"Uh, Vince," I say tapping the inside of the door. "You didn't close it all the—"

" _Quiet down, man, he's coming,_ " whispers Vince, leaning on the outside of the locker, stopping me from falling out. "Hey T!"

"V-man!" Troy replies, greeting Vince, walking into view.

"You like Gus, dont'cha?" asks Vince to him, getting straight to it.

"What? That lanky shy twerp with the camo? Did your mom force you two to play date or something?"

"No, we go _way_ back. He's a cool guy once you get to know him."

"Aw man," sighs Troy. "I don't hate a lot of people, but I friggin' hate Gus. I tried to like him and everything, but the guy's got no redeemable qualities what so ever. He looks like he legit sniffs bicycle seats, dude."

"But wasn't it the other day that you said you wanna be better friends with him and stuff?"

"Where you get that? Um, yeah. I'd be better friends with him. Sure."

Vince sneaks a look at me and smiles.

Troy grouches. "I mean, if I wanted to get closer with Molly. But I've already _lipsed_ that."

"Hey man, how could you?"

It happened. Molly's moving on to someone else. What am I kidding? It was only a matter of time. And a matter of which boy was going to realize she's as beautiful as I know she is.

"Uh, what?" Troy goes, answering Vince. "It's pretty _easy_ actually. _You know me_. It's not like they're together. Her tongue actions solid though. I'd give it a mean seven if I had to. A girl, who ain't even _his_ , is the _best_ thing about him."

"Troy, man—" starts Vince, moving away from his locker's door.

I fall out on to the floor. I crash more clumsily than I could ever imagine. My arms flail as I fail to catch myself from smashing on my face. Some girls passing by are scared away from me in fright as they scream slightly. The startled girls catch Troy's attention of _me_ more than it did of me _actually_ falling.

Troy looks shocked and then cracks a smile pointing at Vince and I. "Aye! You two got me!" Troy goes, scratching the back of his neck. "Gus! My man!" he says, turning towards me, slapping my chest with a weak tap as he's a bit too far away from me to make proper contact. He looks around the hallway awkwardly, blowing out air through his cheeks. "So, hows, er, Molly doing?"

Vince huffs in frustration. He turns to me and blocks his arm in front of Troy leaning on the lockers. "Forget that," Vince says to me. Troy tries to peep in and hear what we're saying, but Vince smacks his locker, making Troy retreat away slightly. "You're just gonna need to stop Spinelli and Troy from killing each other. Then it'll all be gravy, all right? That shouldn't be too hard, man."

"Okay," I reply, with a I nod. "Vince?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"Can I borrow your shoulder pads and your, er, helmet?"

* * *

 **Chores on chores on chores,** and I'm still on the wrong-end of taking flack on flack on flack on flack. There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Except for spiders. Cockroaches. Rats. The list goes on really. But I'm still cleaning this basement, no matter what my trembling knees think. I fix Vince's shoulder pads sturdier on top of myself. I place on his helmet on my head. I put the torch on as I descend downstairs to the dark basement with my equipment.

My phone's excited. It keeps rumbling and giving me messages. The gang are all together today. They're all having fun together from the Clipgoss stories and live updates I keep getting invited to see.

I take my bucket with my mop to the side. I start sweeping the floor with my broom. The rodents scatter and migrate. I dust away cobwebs. Wiping away all the nasty gunk and dust off the shelves and banisters. I organize the boxes. I throw out the junk in a trash bag in the corner. Finding some old toys that I thought I lost. All these old family treasure and trinkets are like artifacts. Things Dad has complained of not finding has ended up down here.

Minutes turn into more minutes, that turns into an hour. Light naturally creeks down from the little window in here. The basement has become a lot brighter. I mop up the floor to give it a clearer shine.

I've been working so hard this week but the reward will be worth it. I know it will.

"Private?" Dad asks at the top of the stairs.

"Yes Dad?" I reply.

Dad comes down the stairs. He stops on the final step as the floor's still wet. He takes in all the cleanliness of the downstairs basement.

"Who told you to clean up down here?" he asks.

"No one," I reply, putting down my mop. "I'm just taking initiative, sir! I also found your old dealer shoe." I point at the old device that holds decks of playing cards. "I knew I didn't lose it, so there was no reason for you to get so upset that time."

"Is that what this is about?" he goes, screwing his eyes. "You're going behind my back to critique how I discipline?"

"No," I say, tiptoeing across the wet floor and handing the small thing over. "I just found it."

"Really? Thanks," he goes. He nods looking around the basement again. "Okay. Keep it up then. Oh, and Gus?"

"Yes, Pop?"

"You can have a look at fixing my shelf in my office, if you want."

Dad leaves, going back up the top of the stairs.

"Great," I sigh to myself.

I tie up the trash bag and put it outside with the garbage.

The rest of the day I'm determined to act like the perfect son. I retrieve the ladder and I clean the gutter of all the leaves and stuff in it. I vacuum the whole house, dust and clean every room I can. I head back outside and mow the lawn. My next mission is to do the reverse of the basement. The attic.

After that's completed, I do the laundry. All of it. The instant my mom's apron has a smudge on it I'm on the case. I polish Dad's boots. Replace the light bulbs. Pick out all the coins and loose change in all the sofa's and seats. Change the curtains. I don't stop until every flat surface in the house can be used as a mirror.

Dad's office is free. He never keeps it open, so it's kind of a privilege I'm even allowed in. I'm not gonna push my luck and try to clean up in here. I couldn't even if I wanted to anyway. I think he's got OCD. Everything has it's own place. His map of the world on the wall with pins on them. His tank collectibles on his desk must be over Forty years old. His clear cabinet holds all of his medals and accomplishments. I close the door. I go back to his cabinet and open it really slowly. Taking out one of his medals of honor, I pin it on my chest, and stare at my reflection off the glass. He has twenty or so individual medals. These are amazing. The only thing I have mildly close to this, is my Wild Screaming Woodchuck Scout badges. I stuff the medal in my pocket.

I turn to his shelf. It's off balance. Taking out my tools, I take the shelf out of place and realign it back, as I screw it back on. Putting the books on war history and strategies back in order.

I turn at his desk. He has a leaflet out on the military academy open day in Mexico. It's spanning this whole month. You get a tour. You get to go inside of a tank. With the opportunity to get a certificate proving that you have been a cadet for one day. Epic.

The door rings.

No ones answering it.

The door ring goes off a few more times. I leave Dad's office and go through the house. I open the door.

"Hi Gus," says Molly, smiling at me. "How are you?"

"Uh, um, uh."

I close the door. What is she even—? How does she even know where I—? I hold my chest. It aches. I lean against the door. Going back inside, I face in-front of a mirror, I rub the gunk off my glasses. I breath in and out. I try to take a moment to process this. I open the door again.

She's gone.

"Where'd you—?"

"I've had this for like seven years now," says Molly. I look down. Molly's sitting on the porch just in front of me. She turns slightly and shows me her Jamacàmon virtual pet. I close the door and sit next to her. "It was a test, you know, to see if I was responsible enough to get a real one."

"Bruiser?" I ask.

"Yeah," she replies. "He was cute when he was a puppy but now he's all, a big hand full. If my parents didn't love him so much they would have known something was up."

"What's that?"

"I hate him and I don't want him anymore," she sighs. She turns to me, nudging closer. "I missed you today. We were all in the arcade. All eight of us. Vince got a high score. Gretchen wore contacts all day. Geoffrey and Mikey made up a musical on the spot. Spinelli put a slurpo down Troy's pants. I made a Zoot out of it."

She shows her phone to me. It's a six second video loop of Spinelli spilling slurpo down Troy's pants. She plays it three times.

"Molly? I was hearing stuff, and, uh, you never kissed Troy, did you?"

Please say no. Please say no.

"Yeah."

 _Fudge!_

"Okay, are you two dating now or—?" I ask.

"Oh, no," she gasps. "He asked me out to Floppy Burger after he won the football golden cup. It was this whole thing. We made out a bit round the back outside. It was just a kiss. Well, a long french kiss. Don't worry about it though, Gus. What you and I have is much more special than us having to make out every second we're around each other."

"Really?" I say. I look at her. I'm losing myself in her eyes. "Molly. I like you. No, I like-like you, _a lot_. Can you just give it to me straight. What are the chances of you and me doing that? Kissing and junk. Doing all that lovey mushy stuff together?"

"Not great."

I think I've just had complete and utter heart failure.

"Like, I'm one out of ten?" I ask.

"Try one out of a gazillion," she says, biting her bottom lip.

"Oh. I thought maybe we could fall in love as friends."

"Gus, you're super sweet, but I really don't get that feeling when I'm around you."

"You don't get sweaty palms and your heart doesn't jump like mine."

"My giney doesn't tickle."

"Huh?" I ponder out loud. I slowly take a flicker at her crotch. Molly follows my eyes as well. She nods back at me. "Oh."

"Gus!" Dad shouts from inside the house.

Molly and I turn our attention to inside. I leave Molly on the porch outside. I go back in Dad's office where he's waiting for me.

"Where is my medal of honor for legion of merit?" he shouts.

"What?" I ask.

My mind is still in the clouds.

"My medal, Gus! You've been through my things! It's all askew! What do you do when you want to borrow an officer's things?"

It's all askew? What? There's only one ruddy thing out of place. One. How tidy and in place of a person do you have to be, to complain that everything's messy when only one thing—?

"Gus!" Dad shouts louder.

"I ask, I mean, you have to ask in advance and then put it back where you got it from," I reply.

I stick my hand down my pocket and hand over his medal.

Dad takes the medal and puts it back in place. He closes up the clear cupboard. He takes a second before he looks back at me. "Well, thank you for fixing my shelf, Private. Good job, and I wanna say, before this little kerfuffle and complete lack of focus, you've been _really_ proficient today. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

"All right. Dad. Please."

"The answer is no. It's completely unnecessary. I fail to see the point in me doing it. I can just drive you and your friends to HQ first thing in the morning. Official commission is a tall order for me, especially if for any reason you are caught abusing your privileges."

"I won't, Dad. I promise."

"What are you trying to prove?" he sighs. "Okay son, if you are so adamant to see what its like getting a license. I'll let you try a driving practical, but not in the DMV, you're going to the DTW. An army driving test. If you can pass the full army test, then boy, I'll give you a full license right then and there."

"Okay. I accept the challenge. Thank you."

I put my hand on my head in salute.

Dad salutes back.

* * *

 **"Cover your right eye** and read the number on that tank," orders the driving army instructor.

"U, S, A, 4, 4, 5, 0, 4, 0, 3, 6, sir!" I reply.

"Good," he replies, beginning to walk off.

"It's a M60 Patton main battle tank. Introduced in the 1960's during the _Cold war._ Standardized as the 105 mm Gun Full Tracked Combat. Sir!"

"That wasn't needed, but, good. Very good, **"** he replies, looking at the tank and then at me. "You don't have to call me sir, Gus. Yeah, I'm an officer, but I'm your instructor too. Brad is all right." **  
**  
I smile back. I'm too nervous to respond.

"Gus, you know me," says Brad.

I need to stay calm. Of course I know him. He went to Third street. He was the leader of the Safety Rangers. He bossed me around endlessly in army camp in the summer. Well, he did until he thought the real president actually needed me. Brad never found out that it was actually TJ with a voice changer.

"Aaaaaagh!" Brad screams at me, holding my shoulders.

"Aaaagh!" I scream back.

"Good," laughs Brad, patting me on the back. "Now you've got that out of your system, you should be fine."

What the hell? Oh my god.

Brad asks me two questions about underneath the hood of the army jeep car I'll be driving. When we get inside, he asks me two more questions which I answer back very easily. I feel good. I think that scream tactic actually worked. I put my seat belt on.

"Aaaaagh!" Brad screams again.

"Aaagh!" I go, pressing down on the accelerator of the jeep.

The car doesn't move.

"Don't worry, man," says Brad, sitting next to me. "The hand-brake's still up. Sorry. I couldn't help it. I won't do that again. You'll be fine." He looks across the track lain out with cones. "Just follow the track until I instruct you to do otherwise."

I go about with the test. Doing a parallel park and every other maneuver.

I complete the practical quite easily like I did with Mr Foley's class.

I park up and wait with Brad whose writing on his clipboard in the passenger seat.

"This is where the test gets a little extreme," says Brad.

"Extreme?" I ask.

"Yeah. When it moves up from a driving test to an _army_ driving test."

Cadets come out with paint guns and balloons filled up with something. The cadets put up cut-outs of terrorists and little foreign children. Four sack dummies are layed out on the ground. A tank rolls up on the side.

"The objective is to save your injured soldiers without getting the car too damaged," Brad explains, undoing his seat belt.

Brad walks off. What is he doing?

"Save me!" Brad shouts, as he then he collapses to the ground.

The cadets shoot their paint guns at me. I push down on the gas. I dodge the cardboard cut outs. Swerving away from balloon paint bombs. I pick up the dummy soldiers one after the other. The tank beside me gets close. Its loud as it rolls right up next to my jeep.

I reach Brad. He's playing dead on the ground. The cadets have reached up to me. Its impossible not to get shot by them. I go faster. In one swoop, I spin the car in a circle with one turn in front of Brad, undoing my seat belt, picking Brad up, and throwing him in the passenger seat. Brad peeps his eye open for a second. He's probably trying to see my progress.

I've got three out of four dummies, and the finish line looms.

Brad opens one eye. _"A dead soldier would probably say you've done enough to pass,"_ he whispers.

I look at the last dummy sprawled on the ground.

"I can't leave him," I say. "No soldier left behind!"

I spin the car around. The cadets with their guns are behind me. I reverse the jeep, driving backwards so I can see the oncoming shots. I avoid all the gun fire. I spin the car around picking up the dummy and putting it in the back seat. The cadets are at the finish line. I have no hits so far. There's no way I can get there without getting hit.

Well, I gotta try.

Still in the car, I roll up to a paint gun left on the ground, opening the car door and picking it up.

 _"What are you doing?"_ Brad whispers, still pretending to be injured.

"Passing my test," I reply.

I rev the car up. Psyching myself up. I drive full pelt on a single ramp on the right. I reload my gun with paint. Clearing the ramp, I turn the steering wheel toward the high side. The car's in full tilt. I'm balancing the car on two wheels. The cadets miss my car. There's less for them to aim at now. I take my paint gun out. I undo my seat belt. Jumping on the side window, I shoot the cadets before they hit me. My El Diablo dodge ball skills coming into effect. I take out all of them. I run over a terrorist cut-out accidentally. I go back inside the car. It slams back down to four wheels. I pat the cut-out of the little foreign child on the head, as I drive through the finish line.

All the cadets are rolling on the ground.

"So, how did I do?" I ask.

Brad's eyes are poking out. He makes a groan. He runs out of the jeep.

The army cadets with paint guns walk off hurt saying, "Why'd you do that for!", "What the hell!", "You could of killed someone!"

I get out the car. The car is spotless. There's no paint on it. With no scratches either. I turn around at the driving center. Dad has his arms crossed. He looks unimpressed with an angry expression.

Brad has reached a bin and he's throwing up non-stop inside of it.

* * *

 **I'm stuck on Mr Kelso's smile,** but I feel emotionless. His smile isn't trading off back to me. His smile is usually infectious like a yawn or bacteriums, but not anymore. It's been a few weeks. And nothing. No license. No operation. No love. Here's me thinking I passed my driving test, I thought I knew I had it. I don't think teenagers my age are even allowed overtime so Kelso's doing me an humongous favor.

I eye up all the cleaning equipment I'm gonna buy after my shifts over. I'm running out of things to clean and fix in the house. I might have to run the pick up truck through the house at this rate, just to have something to do. **  
**

A small boy with down syndrome comes into the store, with a little girl on a wheelchair. Troy helps them both into the store.

"Hi Troy," I greet him. "Could we talk about the operation for a second?"

The little girl on the wheelchair is driving into him on purpose hitting him over and over on his shin.

"Later," replies Troy. "Maybe. Probably _nah_ , though." He looks over at the girl. "Get up, Lana."

"Tom Tom," she says, sticking her hands up at him for a lift.

Troy picks her up. He gently puts her on her feet. She walks straight up to the cash counter looking up at the sweets.

Troy looks at her. "You could walk all this time and you were just lying, weren't you?" he chuckles. The little girl sticks her tongue out at him. "I still can't believe you can actually walk, though. Don't tell Mom and Dad yet. Milk that disability as long as you can." The girl nods her head, and Troy gives her some money. "Don't spend it all on crap unless you're gonna give me some."

"Ooozah! Nara dreamster!" the girl replies.

What is she saying?

"Yeah, I will," Troy replies to her.

"Troy?" I ask slowly, trying to tread really lightly and not offend anyone. "If you don't mind me asking, what does your sister have? You know, what's wrong?" Troy looks ticked off at me. "I mean, what's _right_ with her? You know, her friend has downs so—"

"Stop talking," says Troy.

"Sorry."

"Lana has Spina Bifida," he explains. "Which is kind of a _choice_ name for a birth defect. Cause it sounds just like how she talks. Doctors don't know why she talks the way she does. I'm sure she's a hidden scholar and she's just faking it." He parts Lana's hair. " _What do you do if Billy does kissy face?"_ he whispers. Lana tries to kick Troy in the nuts, but he catches her foot before she does. "Good girl," he says, approvingly. She smiles all content. Troy turns at the boy with downs. "Hey Billy," he says, giving him a high five. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Troy leaves up to the door of the shop.

"But Troy, I need your help," I say.

And his truck.

Troy looks back at me. He stares down at my chest. "Nice apron," he laughs, before leaving out of Kelso's.

I finish my overtime after a few hours.

I go back home.

Mom's on the sofa sitting and talking to, who I'm pretty sure is TJ's mom, Mrs Detweiler.

"I just don't see the point," Mrs Detweiler says, squirming on the side of the sofa, with a book in hand. "If nobody else showed up, I better go."

"We have drinks," Mom says, adjusting her glasses as she scoots closer to her.

"I think the point of book club is to really discuss the book," she replies, scooting away. "I think I'm just gonna leave. Thank you, though."

"Please don't," Mom says, pushing Mrs Detweiler back on the sofa. She looks up and notices me. "Hey honey, you know TJ's mom—"

"Hi Mrs Detweiler," I say. I'm about to walk to my room, but I stop myself. I look at TJ's mom. "I don't, uh, wanna intrude or anything—"

Mr Detweiler sighs, "Trust me, you're not."

"It's been weird having TJ gone," I start. "It must affect you too, huh?"

"I miss my little man everyday," she replies. "I don't even care if he did or didn't do whatever he's being accused of. I just want him back home." She turns to Mom, getting up on her feet. "Like where I wanna be right now. No ones turned up. I'm not sure how much more there is I can discuss here, so I'm gonna be heading off. _"_

"You can't go yet," laughs Mom, standing up too. "I won't _let_ you go."

"I tried to be nice," says Mrs Detweiler. "I tried spending time reading this book. But it's horrible. How many times can the main girl's cheeks blush bright pink? And this button-down, love interest is three steps away from being a possessive psycho. Matter fact he is. So Margret, thank you for inviting me, but I'm tired, and _I am going home."_ She walks to the door and looks at me. _"_ It was good seeing you, Gus."

TJ's mom leaves through the front door. Leaving my mom looking disappointed.

"Madge!" Dad shouts, walking towards us. "Make your book club scarce! My army buddies are coming around so I can continue to kick their keister in poker."

Mom doesn't respond. She's just looking through space with a blank expression.

"Madge!" Dad repeats.

"Yes honey," she replies, getting up and moving towards the kitchen. "I'll get you chips and dip."

"Now you're talking," Dad says, moving through the house again, with his playing cards in hand.

I trudge to my bedroom. I put all the cleaning equipment to the side for later. Hubert. I haven't played with him in forever it seems. I've just been so caught up trying to be the perfect son. I knock on his cage.

"Hubert," I say. "Come on. Wake up."

What? Why is he laying on his back for? He's not moving. It's been so long that I've seen him, so I guess I didn't get to feed him either? I pick him up. He's cold. He's floppy. He's, dead. He just dangles to the floor, with he's tongue sticking out, but in a lifeless way though. I put him back in his cage. I'm too tired to even make sense of all this. I walk backwards till the back of my head hits the wall.

"Ayo!"

Troy comes into my room uninvited. Who let him in? Troy spins his head around at everything. "I can't believe I've been hunting around all day in the mall and there's not a single catch," Troy complains.

"Hunting? Like dear?" I ask.

"Girls Gus. Girls," he replies, turning around at me. "And there's none of them in Arkansas. You know, unless you want to have some long meaningful relationship or some crap. Pfft!"

"There's only one girl for me. The only reason I'm doing the operation is to impress her. I'm working more than I should, to buy cleaning stuff to do chores, for my dad to think I'm responsible enough. But I still didn't get my license, I wasted all my money on this stupid bleach and Molly won't kiss me ever. I'm one in a gazzilion, she says."

"Wow," Troy chuckles, sitting on my bed. "You are _one pathetic loser_. No offense."

"No. None taken. It gets worse, Troy. My snake, Hubert—"

"Yeah?"

"He's dead."

Troy turns his head at the snake's cage and back at me. "Aw dude?"

"Gus!" Dad shouts.

I leave my bedroom. Dad's by his poker table using the dealer shoe I found. His two army MP friends are already there sitting down on chairs with him.

I hear Dad whisper, " _Watch this," to his two friends._ He turns to me and projects his voice more. _"_ Give my friends a round of beers would ya?"

I go and get beers from the fridge. I walk passed Troy as he looks on at everything.

I bring out three beers and put them on their coasters.

Dad turns back at me. "What two continents have never been the site of a major military conflict?" he asks.

"Antarctica and Australia, Dad," I reply.

"What are you waiting for?" Dad asks. "Refill his cup."

I do what I'm told. I open up a can and refill his friend's cup. His military buddy mouths, "thanks" to me. Troy is shaking his head at me on the side.

"Hey!" Dad says, calling Troy over. I step closer to them and I hear Dad whisper, " _What cards does he have?"_ He indicates the friends he's playing against. Troy doesn't say anything to him. He just stares at my Dad with a shrewd look. "Fine. Son, come over here!" I step even closer. " _What cards does he have?_ "

"Um, but that's—" I start. I sigh. "A full house."

"Hmm," Dad goes, shielding his cards. "I'll fold." He looks back at me. "Gus. What Civil War general graduated first in the West Point class of 1829?"

"I don't know, Dad."

"Come on, it's easy. You want to be a part of the military, right? You wanna serve your country like your old man. But you won't put the time in to learn the history. Kids today. Ha."

His MP friend chuckles, "Give him some slack."

The other MP joins in too, saying, "What's the worst that can happen if you give it to him?"

"Huh?" I go. "Give _what_ to me? Did I pass?"

Dad's friend chuckles again, saying, "With _flying colors_ and _soaring wings_. We've never seen anything like it."

"Guys!" Dad says. "That one was in the vault. That was supposed to be under wraps."

I'm stunned. "Okay so, you've had my license this whole time and made me think I failed?" I ask.

"You're fourteen, Gus."

"Fifteen. My birthday was last week. I didn't do anything because I was working overtime."

"Fine, fine," says Dad. He slams my license on the table where the chips are. "I'll play you for it." He jokingly moves the cards and chips around on the table.

I stay silent. I can't speak.

Mom pokes her head from around the kitchen with a wine in her hand. "Give him the license, Stefan! For goodness sake!"

Dad looks around, and everyone looks back at him. "Everyone's against me. All right," he goes. He locks his eyes on me, his hand right beside the license. "Go on. Take it, Gus. If you think you're man enough. Go on. I won't stop you."

I take the license. Troy gives my dad a dirty look.

I head back to my room. I sense Troy come in behind me.

"You coming now?" I ask Troy.

"You shouldn't take that," Troy goes. "Your Dad's an ass—!"

"You coming or what?"

"Hell freaking no. Nah dude. You can't be doing this for some girl. I feel the saving TJ bit. That's cool. But you just told me you're doing this is all for Molly. So, I say we stay here and hunt for chicks until this all blows over. I don't know about you, but I'm sick and tired of putting girls up on a pedestal."

I walk over to my window sill. "You know what _I'm_ sick and tired of, Troy? I'm sick and tired of having to eke my way through high school. I'm sick and tired of being a _loser_. But most of all, with Molly, I'm sick and tired of constantly having to _lose her."_

"Okay, Gus," says Troy. I turn around. "Viva Mexico, amigo."

"No fooling?"

Troy raises his arms out for me.

I hug him. I lose myself and begin to cry. For these rough couple of days. Dad being unbearable to live with. Hubert dying.

"Okay okay, just let it out," Troy says, hugging me still, patting me on the back. "Have a good cry. All right." I can't stop crying. "Okay. Okay, that's enough."

* * *

 **Operation: Save TJ from the grasp of detention under state and teenager oppression** is ready to be deployed. Maybe the name of this operation is too long. But we haven't got time for that. That's the name of our Whaddown group chat. Vince, Gretchen, Maddie, Geoffrey and Molly are all on my lawn as they say their farewells to me, Spinelli and Troy. It's like our final send off before our mission. Dad is already in HQ and waiting for our arrival. Ideally we should get to Mexico city by the same time tomorrow. 23 hours and 40 minutes drive. **  
**

Molly hugs Spinelli and then Troy. She reaches me and stops with a smile. She kisses me on the cheek.

"Good luck," Molly says to me, holding my hands before she walks away.

Troy looks back at Molly. "Hey. Where's _mine_?" he goes.

Troy looks from Molly to Spinelli.

Spinelli looks tough and hard-nosed at him. "You try to kiss me, I'll bite your lips off," she says.

"I'm good," Troy says, retreating back to the pick up truck.

I hold my cheek Molly kissed. "I'm never gonna wipe my face again," I say.

"You sure about that?" Troy goes, as he takes a hand from inside his underwear and taps me on the side of the face.

Now I rub my face.

We climb on to the pick up truck. All our bottles of sodas, sweets and snacks are tied up in a neat grocery bag in the back seat. Troy throws a rug, his string bag and two big bottles of water in the back too.

I turn to Troy. "Good idea bringing extra water," I say.

"Nah dude," he replies holding them up. " _This_ is drinking water," he goes holding one. " _This_ is strictly to pour on my feet," he goes picking up the other one.

Spinelli climbs into the passenger seat and turns towards him. "Troy, you better not be like this the whole trip," she warns. "I'm serious."

" _I am_ being serious, it's for my feet."

I start the car up. My friends say their final goodbyes to us as we're ready to depart.

Gretchen leans her arm by the window. "Good luck, guys," she starts. "Just some wise words to take with you. To invent, all you need is a good imagination and a pile of junk."

Spinelli smiles back at her. "I'll keep that in mind, Gretch."

She waves goodbye as we drive away. Our friends get smaller and smaller on the reverse mirror until their waves disappear. We go through Arkansas' smaller roads. I drive enjoying the view. Going passed the Townsedge mall. The movie theater. We reach the main roads. Spinelli is waving her hand out the window in waves enjoying the breeze. Troy is laying on his back in the backseat with his sneakers leaning out the window.

"Road trip!" Troy shouts all of a sudden.

Spinelli grunts turning around. "We're not even through Louisiana yet, and already you're annoying me."

"Gees," I say.

Troy sits upright, putting his arms around our seats. "We're really doing it, aren't we guys?"

"Yeah," I reply, as I focus on the road.

We go through Louisiana. It's a nice relaxing drive. It has incredible landscapes of large trees that reach straight up into the sky where there's little puffs of clouds. I follow a nature trail. The road winds in curves. There's coastal marshes, swamps and lakes in the distance. Spinelli has the music up, that she's linked from her phone. Spinelli gives me a few glances every now and again. She gives me some encouraging soft slaps to my arm. I can't believe I'm driving. I'm doing this. I'm in my zone.

We reach Texas. The forestry scenery slowly turns drier. There's rockier mountains around us. The odd cow turns into the odd bull. Troy must have fallen asleep but I hear him roll over and sit back up.

Troy opens up a bag of chips and starts eating them.

I turn my head around for a second. "Hey! Where'd you get those?" I ask.

"I bought them at Kelso's," he replies, scoffing them down.

Spinelli grunts. "We're supposed to talk about all expenditures, Troy," she says. "My allowance. Gus' money from working part time. We're on a very tight budget."

"This didn't come out of our cash," he says. "No, I was able to raise some funds before we left."

Spinelli asks, "Where did you get the extra dough?"

"I sold some stuff to Billy Forsythe," he replies.

I look at Troy for a second. "The boy that plays with your sister?" I ask.

"Yeah!" Troy goes. "I mean, yeah."

Spinelli keeps jabbing at him. "What did you sell him, Troy?" she asks.

"Stuff," he replies.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Oh, you know. A few Ajimbo cards, a sack of marbles," he goes. He coughs. " _Hubert."_

"Hubert?" I shout, trying to drive straight in my lane. "You sold my _dead_ snake to a boy with _downs syndrome_?"

"What?" Spinelli bellows out with a gasp. "What you do? Tell the little tike it's hibernating or something?"

Troy slows down eating. "Well, technically snakes don't _hibernate_ , they _brumate,_ " he says. _  
_

"You're going to hell."

"So Guys," Troy goes, diverting the conversation. Spinelli takes some chips from him and eats some herself. "Anyone else have that amazing dream of dreams the other day?"

"That felt like it was a month long?" I ask.

"Yeah man," Troy goes. "Fillmore and Ingrid. Me and Spinelli all _muah muah_ unloading kisses in the hallway with each other. You had that dream as well, didn't you Spinelli? I've asked everyone now."

"Uh," Spinelli murmurs, as she scatters her eyes away from Troy and me. She points at something out the window. "Hey look! The great state fair is just a mile away. What you say, Gus?"

"Uh, yeah, sure okay," I reply.

I'm a sucker for the great state fair. I always have been. What's this about Spinelli and Troy though? They were together as a couple in our unusual dream we all shared, but, it was just a dream though, wasn't it?

I turn into the Great state fair. It's just how I remember it. Pig pens. Roller coaster rides. Bumper cars. Game booths. The parking lot is completely taken up for space. I keep driving around in circles. There's space where cars are parked up further inside with a banner above it saying, 'Animal car decoration contest.'

"Just park over there," Troy says, at the spot of cars.

"I can't," I say, turning around in the lot again. "It says only the cars entering the animal car decoration contest can stay there."

Spinelli looks at the car pen too. "We've been looking around for ages," she goes, sounding drawn out and impatient. "Just park already."

"But it says, it's for the cars who wish to be decorated only," I go.

"Look," says Troy, leaning right by me. "We haven't entered, so nothing bad's gonna happen." Spinelli gives me the same look. I turn the truck around and drive it into the small pen. It's muddier in this part. Some people in cowboy hats walk across. I park up the car. Spinelli gets out as Troy and I follow her. "Probably," Troy adds, slamming the door shut.

I lock up the truck. I have a look around. We walk in further together. There's snow cones, carrot shaped pumpkins and Gargantuan the world's largest pig. It's amazing. I feel like I haven't grown out of it.

My stomach growls.

I turn to Troy as I notice something we could try. "You wanna do the hot dog competition, Troy?" I ask him.

"I'm Muslim," he replies. "Pork's a no no."

Spinelli says, "That means you can't drink alcohol either."

"Uh-huh," Troy goes. "We're not supposed to eat pork, drink beer, gamble or do anything that will damage our health."

"So, _you,_ wasted at Paige's, what was that?"

"Didn't you hear me? I'm not supposed to do anything that will damage my health, so I shouldn't be talking to _you,_ for starters."

"Shut up! Hey, you know it's funny how—" she says as she walks off with him.

I sigh to myself. No matter what I do, I can't bond with Troy at all.

I remember when TJ helped me get to the great state fair when I forgot my permission slip. When I had to stay back with Miss Finster and Gelman and do the otter dance. _Ugh!_ That still haunts me. But, look at me now. It's four years later and it's a complete turn around. Now, _I'm_ the one that's gonna save him. How times have changed.

The hot dog eating competition, where overly-fat competitors are pigging out on, is not the only contest that's being held. You have the car decoration thing, where I'm still worried something's gonna happen to my truck. Arm wrestling, which is pretty typical. But, some kids are dressing up Llamas in a costume contest. Like, why? There's a swimming pool here outside, but dog's our jumping into it. It's a dog diving competition. It's just getting weirder and weirder.

I walk up to the game booths. I have a go at the 'Test your strength' game. Putting in a quarter, I pick up the mallet and whack it as hard as I can. Wow. I reached the top. But it's named me a 'Jungle queen.' That's not masculine. Just my luck. Its the only time I hit a high score and I get something like 'jungle queen.'

I see Troy and Spinelli. There standing by the side, debating what to eat. Spinelli nods at me to come over.

What can Troy and I eat together? How can we be better friends? There's a booth that's selling chili. On it's sign it's saying its 'The hottest chili in Texas.' Us three walk to the stall. There's carnies giving peppers away to try. Troy and I take one. The pepper looks intense. Bright red with a green stem coming out the top of it. It looks like a little atomic bomb.

I lean towards Spinelli and grasp her attention away from the fast food. "You want a Carolina reaper chilli pepper, Spinelli?" I ask.

"Nah, you guys go ahead," she says. "Who ever can stomach that, can eat lava. I'm not at that level."

Troy takes a pepper himself too.

I look at him. "I'll do it if you will, Troy."

"Okay, I'll go first," he replies, dangling the pepper towards his mouth, looking over at Spinelli for her approval. "I'm used to the spiciest food. You might as well sit this one out."

"No," I say, stopping his hand. I look over at Spinelli too. "I'll go first. I'm always picked last. I'll go first this time."

This is now less about bonding and more about impressing Spinelli.

"No, I'll go first," says Troy.

"No, I'll go first," I say.

"No, I'll go first."

"No, I've always ever wimped out, so I'll go first."

Spinelli grabs us both. "Why don't you two big kahunas stop acting like your hardened tough guys and just go at the same time, huh?" she says.

"On three?" Troy asks. I nod with my pepper in hand. He counts down from three. We chow down our peppers. "It's not so bad."

"Yeah," I reply, eating mine down with ease. "It's more _tingly_ than _hot_."

The heat is creeping up. It's getting hotter. Hotter. Even hotter. What the hell? This _is_ hell. I'm biting down on the devil's chili.

"Yeah," Troy agrees, eating his one calmly. "Arrrgh!" he screams out loud. "Uggghhh!"

I scream out too. I groan in pain and spit out what feels like fire. Troy shouts out louder.

Spinelli pats as both on the shoulders. "If you two will excuse me, I gotta use the phone and call Teej to tell him we're on our way," she says, walking away from us. "Enjoy your meal, guys!"

It's the driving test, with who can scream the loudest, all over again. My tongue feels likes it's fallen off. I've just chowed down on the sun. Everyone around us turns around looking. We scream out loud together. Troy coughs, shouts and whizzes on the napkins. I can't take this. I grab the mustard and the ketchup. It's the nearest thing to me. I pour them both directly on my tongue.

"Arrrgh!" Troy cries, blubbering out and hollering out everywhere.

"Uh! Ugggh!" I go, with my mouth open. "Here Troy, this helps! Ugh! Uggh!" I shout, handing him over the ketchup. "This helps good! Uggh!"

Troy takes the mustard and ketchup and slams them on the table. The red and yellow squirts in the air. He wails out loud with his tongue stuck out. It goes all up in his nose. He sprays it everywhere.

I run back to the fast food stand, pushing people out of the way, and pour Martian piss soda in my mouth.

Troy pushes a little boy over, whose holding ice cream. He takes his ice cream, he puts more mustard on it.

* * *

Troy and I clean ourselves up in the bathroom. We use up the spray soap. We share and hog up the drier together, making other people have to walk around us. Troy runs the tap water on his tongue for a good minute.

We leave and go back out together.

"Feeling better, girls?" Spinelli asks us, her arms crossed waiting for us outside on her phone.

Troy and I look at each other. I can still feel the pepper on my tongue.

We walk over to the Pig squealing competition.

"We're the hogs, right?" Troy asks. "We should be seeing how our chants are _supposed_ to be."

"That's true," I reply.

"Whatever," sighs Spinelli.

The first contestant gets called on to the stage.

An old man with a corn on the cob shaped hat, adjusts on his mic. "Booooie! Boooghw! Boooooghw! Baaaargh! Piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy. Freddy! Freddy! Fred! Aaaargh! I think I've seen him he's right over there."

What was that?

Spinelli and I stand still.

"Take it," Troy goes, hugging Spinelli and I. He inhales in. "Breath in that American culture."

A large guy comes on the stage and takes his turn. "Soooooooie! Come on pig!" he goes on the microphone. "P _iggy, come on piggy,"_ he whispers out low. _"_ Sooooooie pig! _"_ He covers his mouth and squeals out loud. He contorts his nose. Pushes off his glasses. Making louder and louder pig squealing impressions.

The crowd applauds even louder for him as he finishes.

Another guy walks on for his turn. "Sooie! Soooie! Sooooooooooooie!" he shouts into his mic. "Here pig, pig, pig, pig, pig. Here' pig, pig, pig, pig, pig." He holds down his nose and makes even more convincing pig sounds, whaling out loud.

The crowd clap for him. The three of us watch in silence. We're the only ones not joining in. I look over at Spin and Troy and their reactions are the same. Completely weirded out.

Another contestant comes out. A woman going on the microphone. "Soooooooie! Soooooie! Urrrrgghh! Urrrrgggh! Sooooie! Sooooie! Here piggy! Urrgggh! Urrrggggh—!"

"Okay, let's get outta here," Troy says, locked on to the squealing woman. "This is really stupid. Even for me."

"Most sensible thing you said all day," Spinelli grunts. "Remind me to never go to a state fair ever again."

We walk away and back to the truck.

I sigh. "I just thought the great state fair was still gonna be a blast," I say.

Troy nudges me on the arm. I smile back at him. He looks around for the truck. I look too. I can't see it. Spinelli is lost trying to find it too. All the cars in this pen all look like animals now. Cows, deer, bears and more. All of them are wrapped with fur or feathers.

"Uh, Gus?" Spinelli says.

"Yeah?" I go.

I turn around. She's looking at a big furry looking truck. Two flappy ears on the sides. A big button nose on it's hood. Whiskers. A long tongue sticking out the front. The vehicle's redecorated to look like a sheep dog. I push my car keys. The truck unlocks in front of us. _It is_ my truck.

Spinelli goes up and pets the truck's fur. "Wow," she says.

"Ha!" laughs Troy. "Aw man!"

I cover my eyes under my glasses. "I can't been seen driving this to the army base. I mean, look at it."

Troy pats me on the shoulder and opens the back-doors. "Don't act so sheepish, dawg," he taunts.

"Uh!" Spinelli gasps, holding her face. She goes over and punches Troy playfully on the arm. "That was actually a good one."

They both get back in their seats.

I sigh.

I get inside myself and drive off with them, and far away from here.

* * *

 **Thad high emerges.** We're back. TJ's with us again. We walk around the warthog statue. I knock on the front doors of the school. Molly opens it. Flowers in her hair. It's bright pink again. Doves fly out. One bird flutters behind her like wings. She looks at TJ. She runs up for a hug. She goes for _me_. I spin her around till we're nauseous. **  
**

Now I'm in the cafeteria. Everyone's still laughing. Hanging on to my every word. I'm by our table, completely crowded around by every group in school.

"So he says, 'Do you like-like me?' And she says, 'No, but that's a real neat combat helmet!'" I say, as everyone laughs.

I drink my whole soda in one gulp. I burp out the alphabet perfectly.

Everything moves quick.

Now I'm on a date with Molly in Floppy Burger. She sits opposite me. A male server gives us our menus. He helps Molly, but he starts kissing her from her hand up to her neck. Molly looks back at me shocked.

He wants a fight? I'll give to him a fight.

I get off my seat and put my hands up in a fighting pose. I wind-up a martial art stance.

The server swings at me. I duck from it. I punch him across the face, and smash his face against the table. More servers come out. I bob and weave against their attacks. I fight them off. Swinging one over my shoulder, then throwing another through the window.

A big round belly fry cook comes out next. He's like some final boss or something. He uses his spatula like nun-chucks at me. I can't avoid it. He hits me over and over until I fall on the ground.

I rise back up.

He's surprised I could withstand that kind of punishment. I grab out his heart. It comes out clean. It's still beating in my hand. He stands shivering inches from death. I whistle taking out a kid's meal, replacing the little toy inside of it with his heart. I put his heart in the kid's meal bag. I hand it over to him as he takes it. He falls backwards. Defeated.

Now I'm in Molly's bedroom. Molly turns what we're watching on TV off. She turns off the lights with her clapper and music turns on.

Her door opens. "Hey!" her dad goes, walking in with her mom. "What are you doing with a boy in your room?" Molly and I move away from each other. "Without letting us help you."

He smiles wide at us both.

The family dog, Bruiser, comes through her bedroom with a pillow in his mouth. On it has lip gloss and mint spray. Molly takes the lip gloss and applies it. Bruiser barks at me. I take the mint and spray it in my mouth.

Her mom holds the door knob ready to go and give us privacy. "If he doesn't know how to unhook your bra, you do it for him, okay honey?"

"Yes Mom," Molly replies.

Her Dad looks proud at me. "Have fun going second base with my daughter," he goes.

They leave. We're left alone. We look at each other. We open mouth kiss. I'm doing it erratically, our tongues are in and out of each others, sounding like _we actually are_ speaking in tongues. Our necks go in wild directions. My glasses hit her a bit in the face.

I stop so Molly can breath. She whips off her shirt. I take off my glasses.

She unbuttons her bra. This is it. I look down. There's two car lights where her boobs should be. They're honking. They get brighter. It's shining on my face. What? Like they're an actual unattainable goal come to life. They get louder.

I open my eyes.

A massive truck is honking at me. I'm on the wrong side of the highway.

"Whoa!" I shout, swerving the truck back in the right lane.

I fell asleep somehow. It's the middle of the night. That was so close to a crash.

Troy wakes up from the backseat. "You want me to drive?" he asks, unaware of what happened.

"No, I'm cool," I reply.

My heart is beating a million times a minute.

Spinelli rolls a bit in the passenger seat, still fast asleep.

I keep driving. My shock of almost killing us is keeping me wide awake.

* * *

I drive over to the next gas station to fill up.

Spinelli yawns and makes herself comfortable beside me. She turns on the AC. Troy gets up and stretches his arms. He takes out his rug and opens the door. Taking his bottle of water out, he pours it over his feet. Oh. That must be his prayer mat. He really was serious about needing separate water. He leaves, so it's just Spin and me left alone.

"Spinelli?" I ask her. "Can I ask you about, you know, her?"

"What's that, man?" she yawns, with a labored smile. She studies me for a second. "Ugh! Come on, man." She rolls her eyes. "Uh, all right. _What's on your mind, boo boo?"  
_  
She mockingly puts her hands under her chin and flutters her eyes.

"I love her, Spin," I say. "I hang out with her everyday. I've learned everything about her. She eats her strawberry jelly with her left hand. Draws her sketches with her right hand. Lives vicariously through her cartoon philosophies." Spinelli raises her eyebrows at me dropping such a long word. "There's no one else that breaks in and bounces around in my brain like _she_ does. But she doesn't like me back like that, at all, and now I'm finding out Troy and her made out _a lot_ after spending only one day together."

"Molly is not the only girl in the world, Gus," says Spinelli. "Let me tell you something. Girls are picky, but don't get frustrated of us. Don't believe the hype either. Not every girl needs a guy to look, and talk, and act in a specific way, but Molly is just that type of girl that does." I look down. Spinelli taps me. "You know what? I'd go out with you."

"Spinelli—"

"No, I'm serious, and you know why? Cause you're out here, driving to Mexico, saving your best friend, _with_ your best friends and you're putting _a lot_ on the line. If she can't she how kick-ass you are, she ain't worth it."

"Thanks."

"No probs," she replies, moving in closer. "Any girl would be lucky to call you her boyfriend."

I stare back at Spinelli. We flick glances at each other. Our faces are almost touching already. She's not backing off. She must be wanting me to go in. I kiss Spinelli on the lips. I feel her jolt back. She squeals as she pushes me away.

"What the hell are you doing?" she slams.

"I'm sorry!" I shout back. "Bad touch! Bad touch! You just sat there and let me kiss you!"

"Yeah! I didn't think you'd actually do it! I thought you'd stop half way!"

"I thought I'll go full!"

"Why'd you think you could go full?"

"I thought going full was implied!"

"Why don't you start on the other trillion teenage girls in the world and not just the one girl that's in your car."

Troy opens the car door for the back seat. "Am I missing out on something right now?" he asks, rolling his rug and throwing it back in.

I shake my head at Spin for her not to say anything.

"Gus just kissed me," she says immediately.

"Oh, okay, nice," Troy laughs, cleansing his feet with water before slipping back on his sneakers, sock-less. "It would be better if you two actually showed me." Spinelli holds her lips, pulling down the visor and hurriedly staring at her reflection. Troy catches on to this. " _Bonk me backwards!"_ He swings his head at us both. " _You really—_ Hey Gus." He slaps and shakes my hand. "I was gone for half a minute and you're already lipsing one of the cutest honeydips at school. No date. No holding hands and crap. Just one, two, three go. You're a _savage_ , dude."

Troy suggests that he can take over again. Spinelli can't drive. I've already fallen asleep at the wheel, so I give up and let him have the keys. He hasn't got a license. Neither Spinelli or me now for sure if Troy can even drive or not. I'm too exhausted to even care. It feels like I've been working non stop ever since I got the idea for this operation.

I sit in the passenger seat.

Troy drives whilst Spinelli rests her eyes in the backseat.

"Gus!" Troy shouts out of nowhere.

Spinelli rises up in shock.

Whats going on? We seem to be okay. It seems like he knows what he's doing.

"My man!" Troy finishes, still looking ahead at the road as he drives us.

Spinelli cracks a smile reflecting off the rear-view mirror. She lets out a giggle. I laugh. Troy joins in too.

Spinelli turns to me. "Lets switch, you deserve your rest," she says. She gets off the backseat and swaps seats with me. Her smile is right up in my face as we change positions. "Sleep tight."

I close my eyes laying on my side in the back seat.

For once, the last thing I think about before I got to sleep isn't Molly.

It's Spinelli.

* * *

An empty cup hits me in the face. I open my eyes.

"Hey!" Troy greets me, having thrown the cup to wake me up. "I was wondering when you were gonna get up. Ha!"

I sit up straight. "How long have I been out?" I ask him.

"I'd say a good six hours," he yawns back.

Troy drove through the night. Spinelli is asleep in the passenger seat. It's bright this morning. This sounds crazy but, this doesn't look like how I envisioned Mexico to look like. There's a shore of white beaches. A lot of white people in bikinis and surf boards. Touristy spots and shops. Hardly any Hispanics at all.

"Huh!" I say. "I expected Mexico to be a little more _Mehican_ than this."

"I was thinking the same thing," Troy replies, as he drives. "That 'Go Diego Go' is full of crap, man."

How did Troy even get through the boarder without us up anyway?

* * *

We're in California's Colorado Desert. I sit away in the dirt holding my head. Troy leans against the truck arguing with Spinelli.

"I'm only human, Spinelli!" Troy shouts back at her. "Anybody can make a mistake! Come on, stop being a baby! So we backtracked a tad!"

"A tad?" Spinelli barks back bawling her fists. "A tad, Troy? You drove us almost a whole third across the country in the wrong direction! Actually, we were doing a good job leaving America! But you somehow drove us straight back across it! Now we don't have enough money to get to Mexico! We don't have enough money to get home! We can just forget about this whole thing!"

"Well, it's not gonna do us any good just standing here, whining about it. We're in a rut. We're just going to have to play ourselves out."

"Okay, all right. You're right. You're absolutely right, Troy," Spinelli says surprising smoothly as she walks away from the truck.

"Where are you going?" Troy asks.

"Home, I'm _walking_ home," she replies. She turns around and walks back up to him. "You think being cute is enough to get you by. You're nothing more than an _Ashley_."

"What?" Troy laughs.

"I thought I actually like-liked you once. You're surprisingly smart sometimes, funny, you're great with your baby sister. But no. I was wrong. You're nothing more but a _dumb_ _jock_."

Spinelli walks off down the empty road.

"Oh, well, pardon me, little Miss Perfect!" Troy goes. "I guess I forgot that you never ever make a mistake!"

Troy chokes up a bit on his words.

Spinelli walks further and further away from us. She pokes her thumb out by her side indicating to hitch a ride. I've got to stop this. I get up from the side and catch up to her.

"Spinelli come back!" I shout. "Spinelli!" I yell, running up to her as she ignores me. I reach up to her and run right in front of her. "We can't give up."

Spinelli smiles and holds my face. "I love you, Gus. But if I have to spend another minute with Troy I'll kill you and him before we reach the interstate."

"Let's just, let's just try and get back to civilization," I say. " _Please. For me_."

"Okay," she sighs. "For _you_ Gus."

Spinelli and I walk back up to the truck.

I open up the door and start it up again, leaning on the side of it. "Lets just figure out what to do when we get back to the shore," I suggest.

The truck won't turn on. I try the key again. I keep trying but the truck won't start.

"Well?" Troy asks.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," I say. I look on the dashboard. "It says we have enough gas on the dash."

Spinelli shakes her head. "You're such a weakling," she moans. "Move over." She tries it herself. It won't work. The engine doesn't start. She moves away from us and checks under the car's hood. "The battery's dead."

"What are we gonna do now?" I ask.

Troy sighs, "Wait here for someone to help us jump start the truck."

We're stranded in the desert. There's no mobile signal here.

We're by ourselves. The sun beats down on us. We run out of water quickly between us three.

Spinelli grunts throwing the bottle to the ground, "If you didn't use the water for your stupid feet!"

"I warned you lot I needed the separate water," Troy persists.

I agree with him. "He did _say_ , Spinelli."

Spinelli calms down. We all calm down. Dramatically. We sit on the side of the truck. Everything around us is all hazy. The heat is doing that wavy thing it does. My mouth's too dry to talk. Troy's hair is mopey and lifeless on his head. Spinelli squeezes sweat off from her orange woolly hat. I give up smearing the fog from my glasses. It's pretty pointless as it just keeps re-fogging.

Spinelli somehow says, "We are _so_ close to Gonzo World from here."

I smile. "If we make it out of here alive I'll drive us all there," I reply.

Troy adds, "After we save TJ, of course." He sways his neck, looking towards me. "I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry for calling you a bicycle seat sniffer."

Spinelli gives him a look.

I wheeze out a dry cough. "It's okay."

Spinelli says, "Troy, you're only saying that cause were gonna die."

"I forgive you," I say. "It's fine."

"No it's not, I'm a dick," he replies, swinging his head over at Spinelli as well. "To both of you. I just can't stand it when people hold back what they really want. If you want something then just go for it, you know? Gus, I don't hate you, I mean, I said I did, but I just hate this holding-backness thing you got going on. It freaks me out when someone just shows a shadow of themselves, because to me it just seems untrustworthy and a bit sketchy. I don't know what else you could be hiding."

"Look, man," Spinelli goes. "Gus has never been like that. He's timid but he's a fighter when his back's against the wall. He doesn't need to be bought down to your level."

Troy looks back at Spinelli. "I think of Lana and how she would feel if someone pretended to be her friend just to laugh behind her back," he says. Troy looks down and holds his face. "I'm a terrible person."

"Troy, shut up," says Spinelli. "You're, er, um, _you're funny._ "

Troy gets up. "I'm gonna drain the lizard," he says.

"Hold on," Spinelli says, holding her head in thought. "Just hold on to your piss." She gets up herself. She lifts the hood of the truck. She goes back around, riffles inside and takes out an empty beer bottle.

"Er, Spinelli?" Troy goes, looking confused at her. "I don't like where this is going."

"Shut up and piss in this," she says, pushing the 40 bottle at his torso.

Spinelli goes back to the truck's hood.

"Gus!" she orders, still transfixed under the hood of the truck. "Get the water filter."

"Now, I _really_ don't like where this is going," Troy moans.

"I said shut up!" Spinelli repeats. "And go in that bottle already!" She waves at me to come over to her. She points at the truck's engine. "You see that, Gus?"

"It's a Hybrid electric vehicle, so what?" I reply, looking at the petrol engine and an electric motor.

Troy makes it known that he's pissing. " _Ahh, ahh,_ " he goes on the side, away from us. "Uh-oh."

I head to see him. "What? What's wrong?" I ask.

"The bottle's almost full and I'm still going," he says, facing away from me.

"So stop and go over to the side and go."

"No!" Spinelli goes, overhearing us both. "We need all the urine we can get. Wait." She has a cheeky look at Troy. " _You're still going?_ Those are 40's, Troy."

"Quick!" Troy says to me, ignoring Spinelli. "Get me another bottle." I stand still caught in time minds. "Hurry, hurry, hurry. Come on! Come on!"

"What?" I say. "Just hold it."

Spinelli goes back in the truck and takes out another bottle.

"I can't stop once I've started," he says. "It stings."

I take the bottle from Spinelli. "Okay okay, here," I say, handing one over.

"Hold that," Troy says, giving me back the first one. He continues filling the other bottle. It reaches the top. "Hold that one. Hurry. I'm pinching it." I give him a third bottle as he hands me a second one, now filling that one.

Spinelli looks at me holding two open bottles that are full of piss and then at Troy. "What are you, a camel?" she asks.

Troy finally finishes.

I join Spinelli again. I help her unscrew and remove the battery in the truck.

"Damn it!" she says, looking over at everything, examining what she has. "What are we gonna use for a gas cylinder?"

Troy screws his eyes, "Don't look at me."

"Your brother has a bong thing at the back," I suggest.

"A what?" Spinelli asks.

I go in the truck and take out Joey's bong. "See? A bong."

"You mean this vase?"

Troy laughs out load saying, "You can reconstruct a car? But you don't know what a bong is?"

"Hmm," Spinelli goes, ignoring Troy like she has been doing for a while now. She looks at me. "If you tape up the hole on the top of, it could work."

I find some duct tape and do that.

We make a urine powered generator. It looks like a science experiment. Two beer bottles are connected with tubes, to a now clear bottle of Troy's purified urine, connected to Joey's bong, that's connected to the generator. Spinelli explains how the urine is put into the electrolytic cell, which separates out the hydrogen.

"We're separating the hydrogen from the urine, the hydrogen is then purified, dried and pushed into the generator," she says. "Okay, now we have to use a one way valve."

"Why is that?" I ask, trying to learn as we go along.

Spinelli frowns at me. "I don't know. The odd risk of an explosion would be the case."

"Just screw it on, dude," Troy says to me, handing me over the valve.

The bong gas cylinder pushes the filtered hydrogen into the power generator. This purified hydrogen gas is pushed into the generator.

I test out the car.

The engine roars into life.

It worked.

"Thank you, Mr Cutter!" Spinelli shouts in rejoice, looking up at the sky.

"Spinelli, you're a genius," I say.

Gretchen was right. All you need is junk sometimes in order to invent an awesome anything.

"Spinelli, I could kiss you," Troy says. She's screwing her eyes at him. "I said I _could_ kiss you."

I move to the driver's seat. "Let's just get out of here?" I suggest, as Troy and Spinelli make their way inside the truck.

We drive back on track. Continuing the road trip to Mexico. To my dad's army base. To ultimately save TJ.

Troy tags me from the passenger seat saying, "You're it."

"You're it," I reply, tagging him back quickly, Spinelli sitting in the middle at the back.

"You're it. Quitsies."

"You're it. Anti-quitsies."

"You're it. Quitsies. No anti-quitsies. No startsies."

"Hey, you can't do that," I say.

I hang around with elementary kids all day after school at Kelso's. I think I know a thing or two about kids rules. _And kid's rules are kid's rules._

" _Can too,_ " Troy argues.

" _Cannot,"_ I reply.

"Can too. Stamped it."

"Cannot. Double-stamped it. No erasies."

"Can too. Triple-stamped it. No erasies."

"You can't triple-stamp a double-stamp, Troy!"

Troy covers up his ears singing, "Lala _lalalalala_."

"You can't triple-stamp a double-stamp, Troy! Troy!"

"Guys!" Spinelli shouts.

"Hey Spinelli," Troy goes, with a wide grin. "Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world? Aaaaaaagh!" Troy goes screaming at Spinelli.

I join in and scream too. Call it peer pressure. Call it copying Troy. It's just the fact that we were stuck in the desert almost ready to die, but now we fought our way back on to the road.

"Guys! Guys! Guys!" Spinelli says to make us stop. "Fellas, you think we could listen to the radio or something?"

"Radio?" Troy asks, still amped up with energy. "Who needs a radio?" He looks over at me. "Ready, Gus? You add lib me."

"Whats that?" I ask.

"Just go 'yeah!', 'whoo!', and repeat the last word I say. Can you make gun sounds with your mouth?"

"Um."

Spinelli moans, "Troy," at him.

"Ready?" he asks again. "This old man, he played one—"

"Don't," Spinelli goes, covering her face.

"Remix!" Troy says, with his hands around his mouth.

" _Oldie, oldie, oldie, oldie, oldie, oldie,_

This old man playing oldies,

Hoochies, IV drips, and the 40s,

Grandpas and the Grammies,

Giving you cash behind your mommy,

he played, _one,  
_  
Knick-knack, on my _drum,  
_  
Ears n' nose looking all mouldy,

Dentures, removal teeth and the goldies."

Troy looks back at me to do it too. I don't know how to do that.

"I can't do that," I say.

"Uh, yeah you can," Troy replies. "You know how to remember army facts, don't you? It's the same thing."

"All right. Um, trying to remember all the stuff you said. Okay."

"This old man playing oldies,

Hoochies, IV drips, and the 40s,

Grandpas and the Grammies,

Giving you cash behind your mommy,

he played, _two,  
_  
Knick-knack on my _kazoo,  
_  
Ears n' nose looking all mouldy,

Dentures, removal teeth and the goldies."

Troy hyped me up at each line with his add libs with his loud tongue rattling like a machine gun. I made the song extend like the original one that goes up by a number. That was _way_ fun.

"Gus!" Spinelli gasps, holding her mouth. She then turns to Troy. "You are nuts! What are you doing to _him?"_ She laughs. "I know what song you're doing too. It's _such_ a one hit wonder."

"No!" Troy smiles. "That's not how it goes. Come on."

We go back and fourth.

Spinelli does the nursery rhyme remix too.

We're so engulfed rhyming together that we've reached _fifteen_ rhyming it with _theremin._

We've already passed the interstate without Spinelli killing either of us yet.

* * *

 **We're border line bound.** We drive behind a queue of cars in one of the lanes. On coming is a little hut where there's officers who look Mexican.

It's our turn. **  
**

An officer comes out and waves his hand out for us to come through. "Let me have a look at you," he says, stopping us and looking closer at me. "Okay. Everybody out now!" he laughs out, turning his head around at his comrades in his section.

"You wanna see my license and registration?" I ask, taking them both out from the glove compartment. "Everything's in order, sir."

"What you take me for? An idiota? Give me the keys."

"No!"

Spinelli turns at me with a surprised smirk, "Gus!"

The officer laughs, "I'm not gonna ask you again."

Another officer feels the fur on the pick up truck. "What kind of vehicle you call this anyway?" he asks, examining it all around. "Some over sized piñata?"

A third Officer joins in, "When we haul it, do we get a prize and sweets come out too?"

The three Mexican officers laugh at us.

"I can explain," I say, dangling my I.D out the window. The officer takes it. "Everything's in order and everything is official. My dad's a Lieutenant and granted me official commission. It's not like I'm waving my license in your face in a rush. So there's _no problemo_."

"All right" says the first officer, with now a straight face. "Get out."

We stay sitting. Frozen.

The second officer looks mad. "Get out! You spoilt rotten American scum! You hearing us now?"

"He's joking," goes the first officer.

"He's not," the third officer sighs, opening the back seat taking Troy out by his arm.

Spinelli gets out by herself. I stay in my seat. The officers are not playing. They open the car door and drag me out. They force us three to put our hands up and put them against the truck. He tells us not to move. The other officer examines the license plate and I can overhear him report it as stolen. He comes up to me, asking me for my parents phone number. I'm more than happy to, as he pats me down and confiscates it. He says he's calling my father.

"Hola, this is officer Chavos," goes the officer on his phone with my dad. "I have your son here attempting to cross the Mexican boarder." His face changes as he listens to my dad talking. "Uh-huh. Yes. I reported it as stolen, so—yes sir, but. Sorry." He looks at my license and registration for the first time. He's surprised. He holds the phone away from his ears. I can hear Dad shouting and fuming on the other side. "I'll send him right on his way. Sorry Lieutenant." He makes the officers let Troy, Spinelli and me go. "Come on! Vamos!" He turns me back around and smooths out my shirt from where he ruffled it up. "I think there's been a mix up."

We get back inside our truck.

Spinelli sits back down beside me. "Looks like your old man gave them an ear full," she says.

The officer is by the window. "I do apologize for this," he goes. "I was just following protocol. My partners. They're loco. You're so young too. I didn't know."

"You should be more careful," I say, "cause young soldiers like me _do_ exist."

"Okay, I understand. There's no need to tell your dad about all this. Take some sodas, for free, on _us,_ " he goes, handing some drinks to us three.

"Yeah, well, this better not happen again."

"It won't. Please, have a nice time in Mexico, and thank you supporting the troops, Private."

He salutes me.

I salute him back.

Troy takes my license off the dash. He has a chance to look at my license himself.

Spinelli looks at me. " _Show off,"_ she whispers in delight.

We drive through Mexico. We soon hit the slums. The palm trees. Hilly places with lots of roads cutting through hills and homes dotted across hillsides. Some kids run up to our truck and try to pet it. Other kids running around busted open water mains spraying out water. Eating ice creams that look different to the ones we have back at home. They're massive.

Spinelli points out to Troy and me a store selling Lucha Libre wrestling masks. There's small carts giving away tacos and churros **.** Mariachi bands in the streets playing on accordions. Large monuments. The green white and red flag of Mexico waving in the distance.

We get to absorb all the culture.

We leave the city. We enter through the flora desert. I follow the trail as the army head quarters looms.

I drive in. The army guys give suspicious looks at the truck. I almost totally forgot how embarrassing driving this truck can be.

I park up. We jump out the truck. We walk around the army base.

There's a lot going on outside. Music plays out loud from the army marching band. Up in the sky is an air show taking place. Aero L-39 Albatros planes are spewing out colored smoke. Army dogs are being trained. There's opened up tanks on display. Rock climbing walls. Soldiers abseiling out of UH-60 Black hawks, and landing on mats on the grass. A shooting range. A karate dojo. Further in the distance, there's friendly obstacle courses for kids to climb on.

"Spinelli?" I ask her. "You wanna have a go on the gun shooting range?"

"No thanks," she replies. "I've done that with Joey."

"Troy?" I ask. "You wanna have a challenge on their karate classes they have over there?"

"I think that would dishonor my sensei," Troy replies. "I take my three little brothers and my sis to martial arts, so—"

Whoa. They get to do all those things with their siblings. It's lonely being an only child.

We walk inside. There's stalls of different roles in the military academy. People walking around taking leaflets and listening to the different areas of the army that's being offered.

"All right" I say, turning to Troy and Spinelli. "We make a quick appearance. We get in, we get out. No one gets bored."

Spinelli and Troy nod back.

We separate. I spend some time picking up some of the leaflets.

Spinelli and Troy in a short space of time get offered places as cadets. Troy has made some of his leaflets into paper airplanes. Spinelli has made hers into origami and leaves them on a table.

A weight hits down on my shoulders. It's someone's heavy hands on me.

Troy stops smiling as he looks behind me.

"Gus, you made it," Dad says, as I turn and look back at him. I walk backwards next to Troy and Spinelli. "Better late than, never coming at all, having me call amnesty, getting the troops out on you, and putting you into military school indefinitely."

"Mhmm," I whimper. "Dad, you know Spinelli."

"There's a cadet program for girls," he explains to her. He looks back at me. "We have that now. Did you tell the girl?"

"Yep," Spinelli says, showing the leaflets she hasn't folded yet into origami yet. "The _girl_ knows."

Spinelli's sarcasm is more bitter than a sour blast sweet.

"This is Troy," I say, introducing him too.

Troy smiles back at my dad. "Girls are such an inferior specimen to boys, ain't that the truth, right?" Troy asks.

Spinelli doesn't budge. Troy must be being sarcastic too.

"Well, not since the dark ages," Dad replies. "You've been at my house. You thought you felt better than telling me my opponents cards, didn't you?"

Troy says, "I was raised up not to tell lies unless I'm trying to smooth over differences. Some people hate me for it. But its whatever."

"What are you?" Dad asks.

"What am I?" Troy ponders out loud. "I'm tired. A bit hungry." Dad coughs for him to get to his point. "I'm Muslim, so—"

"Ah! So, you're a foreign recruit," Dad goes. He looks at the leaflets Troy's carrying. "Well, I'm not lying to you when I say ISIS, where your from, is the most brutal terrorist group right now. So you'd be helping us keep them neutralized."

"Awesome," Troy says. "Let me call you on that. So what's your current ringtone? Defenseless children's screams?"

Dad moves up to Troy looking annoyed.

Spinelli pulls Troy back. "Calm down," she says to Troy.

"He's joking, Dad," I explain, stepping in myself. "Troy's silly. That's his thing."

"Oh yeah?" Dad says. He turns to Spinelli. "So I cordially invite you to make something of yourself and hopefully pull you away from the distractions girls your age are into." He turns to Troy. "So I'll answer your question and I won't lie. Do I think girls are inferior specimens? Well, they are until they join us." He turns to me. "Isn't that right, Private?"

Spinelli and Troy look at me. Am I supposed to say something now? I can't talk back to my dad. I mean, they're my best friends but the army is something I'll always be a part of. And they basically do improve people mentally and physically. Spinelli and Troy look away. I haven't said anything. The chance is gone.

"There is _so_ much more you three need to see," Dad stresses.

"We're gonna go, Dad," I say.

"You're not going anywhere," Dad replies, staring me down. "You're half-a-day late. You're insane if you think I'm gonna let you go gallivanting again."

Dad leads us to an assembly hall. He shadows over us. We sit in the front row with the other official commanders. On the podium is a military student in the middle of speaking.

Troy laughs out and whispers to me, " _You really wimped out, man._ "

"It's Spinelli, though," I reply.

Spinelli turns her head at me saying, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Troy looks back at me. "She's still a girl, man," says Troy, "you're supposed to stand up for her."

We listen to the military students talk about the school. Dad is right beside me. He's not letting me go anywhere. Troy keeps turning around. An old woman keeps looking back at him. People are staring at Troy.

Troy waves at that old woman. She shields away from him. What's her problem? Troy smiles at this.

Troy scurries his eyes looking focused. "Hey, wait a second," says Troy. "I think I just. Yeah. I just had an idea." He turns to Spinelli. "Follow me."

He leaves with Spinelli. I stay seated.

My dad gets called up to make a speech to the crowd of the new and expecting cadets.

Troy comes back arguing with Spinelli and sets up his prayer rug on the ground. He says out loud that he has to. He lays down his rug. Using his phone compass app to face Mecca. He puts some incense in the bong we used. He lights it up. There's a shared gasp in the crowd. The people start murmuring and the attention is away from Dad whose speaking. Troy starts murmuring in a another language. People are whispering to each other.

"What's that he's got on his mat?" the old woman asks from the crowd.

"No, ma'am, it's okay," I say, "he's just praying."

Troy looks over. "This is just a _bong,_ " Troy explains.

"He said he's got a bomb!" someone else shouts.

Spinelli waves her hands. "No, people, it's a water pipe filled with incense," Spinelli explains.

Troy chuckles still on his prayer rug. "No, no, no, it's not a _bomb,"_ Troy goes. "It's just a _bong_. A _bong_."

He gets up and walks over with the bong. He trips over a chair's leg. It falls on the ground. The smoke from the incense sprays out of it.

"Poison gas!" someone else shouts.

People scurry away. Jumping over chairs. Shouting out in hysterics. The room is emptying. Are these people insane? Why are they acting like this?

The army guys hover over Troy. They point their guns at him. Troy puts his hands up.

Dad watches as people stream out of the assembly hall. "He's just a kid," Dad into the mic at his army MP's. Everyone is going crazy around us. Dad leaves the stage, covering his face in frustration. "Put your guns down." He looks at us. "You three, go outside. I'm gonna need to stop this false bomb scare."

People are evacuating the building.

Spinelli and I follow Troy outside.

I run up to Troy. "I'm so sorry about this," I say to him.

Troy ignores me. He takes his Persian rug and throws it in the back of the pick up truck. He looks back at me beaming a smile.

"Don't you need to pray right now?" I ask him.

"Yeah, just after sunset," Troy replies. In the sky it's clear and far away from setting. "I did it already when I was supposed to, before we left. I lied, dude. I was acting. Incense ain't even that important either."

"Hey!" Spinelli gasps, as she punches him on the arm. "How did you know that would work?"

"They're republicans, Spinelli. Of course it would work."

We climb back in the truck. We drive back out of the army open day. We're on the road again. We laugh together and celebrate.

"That was genius, Troy!" I say. "Sheer genius! I mean, where did you come up with an idea like that?"

"Saw it in a movie once," Troy replies, looking out the window.

"So what happened? So this guy's bong gets mistaken for a bomb so him and his friends get to leave earlier than everyone else?"

"Yeah, but in the movie it's on an airplane," says Troy. "So, they're flown all the way back to the US, get mistaken as terrorists, are locked up in Guantanamo bay, where they're forced to _serve_ the army officers, if you know what I mean. _"_ Troy air quotes with his fingers. He leans adjacent on the backseat, looking back up. "It was a good one!"

What?

I'm caught in two minds trying to drive and wanting to know what Troy meant by that. Serve the army officers? What do you mean, serve the army officers? Terrorists can't be trusted. I look back at Spinelli. Her mouth drops. She shares my worried and wierded out look.

 _Urgh!_ That sounds like—

Spinelli's pulls her woolly hat over her face.

She knows. I try to keep the wheel straight as I realize what he meant too.

* * *

 **"Wanna pass the time?"** Troy asks, as Spinelli and I look at him blankly. "Marry Bonk Assassinate?"

It's first thing in the morning. We're still a safe distance away from the juvie, not to cause any suspicion. I can't believe I stayed up all night with Troy and Spinelli. It's weird how in tune those two are. I wish Molly and I had half the amount of chemistry Spinelli and Troy share with each other.

Spinelli takes her eyes away from her binoculars from looking outside the juvie and scopes her eyes at Troy.

"Gus?" Troy asks, wanting me to play his game.

I take the binoculars off Spinelli. "We have to keep focused and wait for the signal," I reply.

Spinelli snorts. "You're telling me," she says. "Teej texted me that they're gonna be vaulting over _that_ wall any minute."

Troy turns to Spinelli. "You really getting messages from TJ? How?" he asks.

Spinelli shakes her head and takes her turn on the binoculars. "You don't wanna know how they sneak stuff inside of juvie," she replies.

Troy screws his face up as he looks over at me. _Urgh!_ With that expression it must mean they have to be smuggling their cellphones in ceilings, between books and probably in each others underwear even.

I brace myself and check on my phone. "Guys. How many missed calls you got?" I ask.

"Three," Troy replies.

Spinelli turns her head around at me. "Five missed calls from my mom. Two text messages from my dad," she moans. "Oh wait!" She swaps her other cheap burner flip phone with her iCell. "Joey just texted me." She unlocks her phone to probably reply to only her brother.

"That's crap, guys," I say. Troy and Spinelli look back at me confused. "I've got _twenty two_ missed calls and _eight_ text messages. My mom's texts get more and more panicky and my dad's most likely reported me as missing in action."

"Dude, any how you get one of those 'missing' milk cartons with your face on it," starts Troy, pausing at me as he waits for my reaction.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Keep 'em, and then drink from them in front of everyone like a boss when you get back," he finishes. "That would be _way_ cool."

Spinelli cranks her head at Troy. "You know what? That actually would," she laughs.

Us three share a smile together.

Alarms at the juvie go off. The lights around the building swing around. They aren't as visible as it could be as it's too bright and early in the morning.

I drive up to it.

Teens in orange jumpsuits run out. They creep underneath a chain link fence. Others are jumping over a large brick wall with barbed wire on top of it. A cop's car busts through the fence. Juvie prisoners are driving the car though.

A boy runs up to our truck. He's coming straight towards us. _Crap!_ I knew this could have been a problem. Others might try to tag along with us and make our operation more difficult. He's a lean guy with brown scruffy hair underneath a red cap that's pointing backwards.

Whoa. Wait a second. It's him.

TJ. He looks so different. Much more muscular. I don't think he ever was before. His waist is more lean and he's lost some weight on his face. His freckles are a lot darker. Must've been all the sun.

TJ climbs on to the back of the truck. He puts down sacks of potatoes. He jumps off again and runs back through under the fence. Spinelli, Troy and I all share a shocked look with each other. TJ comes back out with more sacks with someone else helping him.

Is that Lawson? Yeah. Lawson jogs with TJ and throws another sack of potatoes on the truck.

"Teej!" I shout.

TJ looks back at me. He smirks. That side of the mouth grin he naturally has. That lopsided smile. He still has that spark in his blue eyes.

"TJ!" Troy shouts out at him. "You've been making those gains!"

"I feel the sentiment, you guys," TJ replies, looking through the mirror from the back of the truck. He walks around with Lawson right behind him. "But let's motor."

Spinelli pushes me to the side so she can have a good look at him, "Uh, TJ?" she asks.

"Yeah Spinelli?" TJ replies.

"Don't look now, but _ex-ney, Awson-rey,"_ she says, poking her finger behind him, and whispering in kid code talk.

"It's cool," he replies, pushing Lawson in front of himself. "We're both cool now."

Troy has a look at Lawson. "You all right, dude?" he asks him.

"Stellar," Lawson replies to Troy. He looks further inside passed me. "Hey Spinelli, uh, how are you? You look, you know, you look great."

"You look great too?" Spinelli replies back to Lawson. Though really slowly, looking wierded out.

It's Gelman. He comes over dragging a bazooka launcher thingy tripod in one hand, and holding someone completely covered head to toe in a cast with the other. He places the machine on the back of the truck. I think it's a spud gun. A potato launcher. Its a long tube that looks like it can rotate around in a circle.

"G—G—Gelman?" I cry out loud.

"Pipsquek!" Gelman replies, dropping the boy in the caste in surprise. "I haven't seen you in, uh, I dunno _how_ long." He turns to Lawson. "We gotta go."

Gelman picks up the caste victim and runs back up to the juvie again.

Lawson looks back at TJ. "See you on the other side, Teej buddy," he says, shaking a special handshake to a hug with TJ. Lawson has a final look towards Spinelli. "Maybe I'll see you around too."

Lawson leaves following Gelman. They run back to the commotion.

" _Aw!_ " Troy sighs out loud at Spinelli. "I think he likes you."

TJ giggles a bit at that. He gets on to the flat bed part of the pick up truck.

I start the car up. I drive away. Teej, at the back, is setting up his spud gun launcher.

There are police cars coming our way. Their sirens are on. Some cars don't have sirens on. The ones that don't seem to be the juvie-breakers.

Cops chase us down the desert. The blue light flashes on top of their cars. TJ pumps out potatoes at the the police. Cracking their windows. Making them drift over to the side of the road. Spinelli climbs out the back window to meet TJ at the end. She refills for TJ putting in more potatoes as he aims.

I use the same sorta skill I used in my army driving test. A cop car barges into mine. An officer looks back at me. He moves his car into mine again, trying to force me off the road. I turn the wheel. I barge the cop car back.

"TJ!" Troy shouts. "Piggy on the left!"

"No!" TJ shouts back, swinging his spud gun the other way, unloading potatoes. "Some of the cars are my friends driving them! Just tell me only the cars that are lit up!"

Troy does just that. TJ lines up and shoots at the cars. Was that Teej's idea too? To make all the prisoners keep their sirens off so they know who is who?

There's more cops with loud blaring sirens now. There's three cop cars around me. Two nudge my sides. One attempts to slow me down in front.

"Teej!" I shout.

"Yeah Gus!" TJ replies.

"Hold on!"

I slam down the brakes. I turn to first gear. I swing the truck back around. Spinelli is holding on to TJ. I put it in reverse. We're going really fast backwards.

"Now!" I shout out again.

TJ has the cop cars right in front of him. He shoots his spud gun across at the cars. No mercy. Taking them all out commander style, like Rambo. I swerve past them still in reverse. Their cars have crashed and stalled. I spin back around. All in one motion.

The only cars left on the road are us teenagers. TJ and Spinelli kick the potato gun off the truck. The other juvie prisoners drive passed us. They celebrate throwing around their hands outside the cop cars their in. Woot wooting out of the windows together. They approach the boarder. They put their sirens on. The boarder patrol let them pass straight through. Not knowing that they've just let them escape.

I see Spinelli hug TJ and kiss him on the cheek. She goes back inside the truck and into the passenger seat.

We roll up to the boarder patrol. The patrol arm post lifts back up.

TJ lays flat on his back. Spinelli pushes a button. The truck's Tonneau covers slides over TJ, keeping him hidden. _  
_

"Everybody be cool," I say to everyone, even though that's more to myself.

"I'm always cool," Troy goes. "Gustov! When this is over, we're having a party, _on me!"_

I hear TJ laugh in the back.

"Shh," Spinelli laughs, with her finger on her lips. "Shut up, _Thomas."_

"Thomas?" I say.

I thought his name was Troy. No one has ever called him Thomas before. That changes things. Isn't Troy who he really is? What is happening? I'm not just confused, _I am_ _pure confusion_ right now.

"Oh no," Spinelli goes.

She must sense that I've been put off a little. I might screw this up. Her eyes are looking passed me and out the window.

"You bringing anything into the United States, sir?" asks the American patrol officer.

"Uhhh," I reply.

The trucks window was already open all this time.

"Sir, are you bringing anything back into the United States with you?"

"Um."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough, to, you know, party."

There's loud barking. The angry police dog senses something at the end of the pick up truck with an officer.

"I need everybody out of this pick up truck immediately!" goes the officer.

Spinelli steps in. "Sir, there's just been a misunderstanding," she goes, helping out. "He's allowed to drive."

"Young lady, undo your seat belt, go over to the secondary inspection area and exit the vehicle now!"

I look at Spinelli and shake my head. She shares my horrid stare. My dad can't vouch for me this time. None of our parents can.

I'm about to get out as I hold the handle.

"Wait," says the officer. He notices 40's between Spinelli and I. "You, uh, you kids been doing a bit of boozing, have you? Sucking back on Grandpa's old cough medicine?"

"No," Troy goes, from the backseat. "But he played knick knack on my drum."

"Shut up, Troy," Spinelli says.

Oh, _so now_ she calls him Troy.

"No," I reply to the officer. "Oh no, sir. We haven't."

I hand over my license.

"Yeah? Then what's that?" asks the officer looking at the beer bottles before peering at my license.

I forgot our bottles of 40's are not at the back anymore we're Teej is. We had to move it next to Spinelli and me. They're still full of Troy's urine.

"That's nothing, sir," I say.

"Yeah, nothing," Spinelli adds.

"Yeah, well, you're in luck," says the officer. "Generally, one liter of alcohol per person may be entered into the US by duty-free travelers who are 21 or older. But, Private Griswald. _"_ He reads my name from my license and gives it back to me. "You should be on duty, and we all know you all are not 21." I look around at everyone. Spinelli's on the edge of her seat. Troy just shrugs. "Come on! Gimme that booze, you skinny little army hair buzz cutted freak! Come on!"

Spinelli opens a cap from a bottle and accidentally spills some of the urine on my arm. "Sorry," she says, attempting to wipe some of it off before she realizes what it is, and stops.

The officer snatches it from her. He puts his lips up to it.

Troy laughs, "Dude, no!"

Spinelli goes, "No, sir, don't!"

At the same time I shout out, "Don't drink it, its his—!"

"You'd keep your mouth shut if you knew what was good for you, Cadet," the officer goes, putting the drink down a bit.

He takes a swig. He has a taste and lets its swirl quickly on his tongue. He swallows it. His eyes scurry. He senses something's wrong. He coughs. Both of his eyes are twitching. His face trembles. He makes creeking noises. He whimpers as his face shakes uncontrollably like a robot malfunctioning.

"Breath mint, sir?" I ask him.

Troy is too shocked to laugh. Spinelli's face is frozen.

"Get the hell outta here!" the officer breaths out.

I take my chance. The barrier gets lifted for us. The officer tries to act calm having just drank Troy's piss. On the review mirror, I can see him begin to bend over and heave on to the ground.

We're free. Home free.

We get a safe distance away. Spinelli pushes the button to take the cover off. TJ sits back up like he's rising from a coffin. It's not like he hasn't practically reincarnated back to our circle of friends.

We did it. We've saved TJ.

I drive faster.

There's more than enough space for TJ to climb inside and sit next to Troy. He doesn't though. He stands on to the back of the pick up truck holding on.

"Woohoo!" TJ hollers at the back, taking his hat off, and holding it out as he lets the breeze blow it in the air.

* * *

We walk in pairs down the road. Spinelli with TJ. Troy is with me kicking some rocks. The dry area with only some trees, cactus and wild life. With the bong braking in the army base, we didn't have anything else to use as a gas cylinder. Once the battery died again, so did our ride. Indefinitely. A rickety convenience store emerges. TJ and Spinelli go inside it.

Troy and me are by ourselves waiting outside.

"First Molly friends zones me, then my dad reports us all missing in action," I sigh.

We're all fugitives on the run.

"Then our truck breaks down," Troy adds. "Again."

"Yeah," I reply.

"I can't get a date either. Spinelli's dumped us both for TJ."

"You think?"

"She's been hanging on to his every word since he got out," Troy explains. He pauses at me. "Did Molly really zone you out even when you told her _everything_ we just did?"

"Yup," I reply, all glum. "When I still had service, anyway."

"When are we ever gonna catch a break?"

As soon as that spills out from Troy's mouth, a big coach appears in front of us. It says 'Miss Teen Universe tour' on it in Hawaiian stickers. At once, a ton of girls open up the windows. I look up at them. Troy's stunned too. A dozen girl seniors stare back at us.

The doors of the tour bus opens.

"Hey, boys!" greets a really pretty girl at us, with Miss Spain written on her sash.

Another girl comes out, "Howdy, yall!" with Miss America on hers.

" _Salut,_ " says another girl wearing Miss France.

Troy slaps me awake on the back of my head.

"Hey," I reply back.

"Ladies," Troy starts, "is there any way the four of us can catch a ride."

"Huh?" Miss America says, flicking her blonde hair and staring at just the two of us.

"He means, um," I say, "there's more of us, I think, I mean, yeah, there's actually four of us right now, back there."

Miss Spain giggles and says, "We only have room for two, that's why we stopped."

"We're going on a Miss Teen Universe pageant tour," Miss America explains. "And we're looking for two massage boys who can warm us down before and after each competition."

"The two boys can miss school and spend all summer with us," Miss France says.

Troy and me are silent.

"It'll be _fun,"_ Miss Argentina goes, from one of the windows. _  
_

Me and Troy look at each other in awe.

"You are in luck!" I say. "There's a town about three miles that way." I point to where we were walking. "I'm sure you'll find a couple guys there."

Troy nods in agreement.

"Okay," Miss America replies looking confused at us. "Thanks. Bye."

They close their doors and drive away.

Troy holds my face. "Do you realize what you've _done_?" he gasps. He lets go of me and runs after the bus, slapping the side of it. The door eventually stops and the door opens. The girl seniors look back at us again. "You'll have to excuse my friend. He's an _idiot_. The town is back _that_ way." Troy points in the right direction. Girls look at each other confused again. Troy and I watch as the bus drives off. "Wow. Two lucky guys are gonna be driving around with those girls for the rest of the year and even the whole summer."

"Yeah, don't worry," I reply, "we'll catch our break too. Just gotta keep our eyes open."

"Yeah."

TJ and Spinelli come back out.

We take sips from the fresh water they brought.

Troy and me walk off together with TJ and Spinelli walking a bit further ahead us.

"You're it," Troy goes, tagging me.

"You're it," I say back, tagging him back.

"You're it. Quitsies."

"You're it. Anti-quitsies, double-stamp."

"You're it. Anti-quitsies, triple-stamp. No erasies, none at all."

"You can't triple-stamp," I say.

"Yes, if you have a double-stamp, of course you can," Troy argues back.

"You can't triple-stamp! You can't if you have a double-stamp!"

Troy puts his fingers in his ears singing. "La _lalala_ la"

I tug on his arms to stop him from ignoring me. "You can't triple-stamp! You can't triple-stamp a double-stamp, Troy! Troy!"

**[PLAY SONG "Foster the people - Best Friend" AT THIS POINT]**


	14. Poetic Justice

**Recess High school years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 1 Episode 13 (Season Finale)

Mikey POV

* * *

 **How like a winter hath TJ's absence been.** From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year. It's dark _dark_ days. Tutor class has no life in it. Mr Dude looks vaguely into space. Everyone in class doesn't really say a word. Only the odd person asking each other for the time. This and that. It's not just TJ's absence that's caused everyone to feel down. There's no Spinelli to speak out in loud volumes about how she feels. There's no Troy who would hit her back with his loud crass demeanor. There's no Molly with her sweet and sensitive way to ground both Troy and Spinelli down again. Also there's no Maddie, who even though she's lost all recollection of who her friends are, she still knows what they mean to her.

" _Mikey, Mikey, hey Mikey,"_ someone whispers at me.

"Yes?" I answer turning my head around.

It's Ashley A. I was day dreaming. It's so quiet in class I can hear her whisper to me from all the way from the other side of the classroom. I get up and sit on Troy's seat. It's the table in front of Ashley A's. I turn the seat around so I'm facing her.

"Where's Troy?" Ashley A asks.

"He's out saving TJ with Spinelli and Gus," I reply.

"Oh," Ashley A goes. "He was supposed to be going to the dance with me. He promised. When will he, I mean, when will _all_ _of them_ come back?"

"I don't know," I reply.

The door of tutor class swings open. "Whoo! Wassup peeps?" Maddie shouts, greeting us all. Nobody reacts to her. "Who died?"

Tutor class eventually comes to a close. I make my way out to the hallway. It's the same thing. Everyone seems dreary. This year has gone too quickly. It's odd how I've changed so much since then. I've lost a ton of weight since the beginning of school. The acne on my forehead has faded. My poetry has become more literal, even if it did put me in trouble that one time, but I think it was worth it.

Maddie is hanging up the banner for the school dance. It's a sock hop dance. It has the theme of the swinging 60's. We're all supposed to wear 1960's clothes if we are gonna attend. Menlo is going up to people with an open jar with some dollars already in it. He goes back to his desk that has been set up in the hallway. The small sign hanging from the cloth covering his table says he's raising funds to get Dogs Pajamas to perform. They used to be an alternate hop-swing band before they turned into Indie disco and funk. Sam and Dave, when they were the Diggers back in Third Street, said that's what Dog's Pajamas genre was, before TJ and Vince shaved their long hair into that mess of a haircut. Fun times.

Menlo, whose sat back down, looks over at passers by. "All donations go to the Dog's Pajama fund!" he goes.

Ashley T and Ashley B come down the hallway to meet Ashley A whose been waiting near me by tutor class.

Ashley B is changing course. She's walking towards me. "Where's that chum of yours, Gus?" asks Ashley B at me. "He wasn't in tutor today. Is he all right? You two are always like, super-glued to each other so I thought I'd ask you."

"Um, with all due sincerity," I reply, "why are you even asking about Gus?"

"Hey!" Ashley B bangs. "I'm friends with Gus. I borrowed a pen from him when I didn't have one once." She storms away from me to go to Ashley A.

I didn't mean to insinuate she's not friends with Gus. I just didn't know she was _generally_ concerned.

Ashley T puts some money in Menlo's jar before she goes to see Maddie on her ladder putting up the sign. She hasn't noticed me yet.

Menlo makes his way up to me. "Can I ask you something, Mikey?" Menlo asks. I nod back to him. "You've talked to Ashley A before."

"Yeah," I reply. "About a minute ago in tutor class."

"Do you know if she's going with anyone yet?" Menlo asks.

"No. She isn't actually. She was supposed to go with Troy but he's not here."

"You know what I think of her," says Menlo.

"Uh, I don't think I do," I reply.

"Well, nothings changed since elementary school. That hair. The way her name sounds. Ashley A. It still rolls off the tongue. She's still first in filings. Still first in my heart."

"That's beautiful, Menlo," I say.

"But what am I kidding? She'd never go to the sock hop with me," he says back, looking at her longingly.

"Love goes by haps, some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps," I say, reciting 'Much ado about nothing' from Shakespeare. "Love is sometimes just about being spontaneous. The fact that Troy is not here is probably fate aligning you two star crossed lovers together."

Ashley T comes up to us both. "Morning, you two," she says sweetly.

"Ashley T?" I ask her. "Would you, um—?"

"Yes!" she blurts out loud almost in a scream. She pauses at me. "You _were_ asking me to the dance, right?" I actually was going to, so I nod back and smile. "Oh my god! That's totally like, cool. That's cool. I need to go back with the girls. We're gonna have such an amazing time."

Menlo turns at me bewildered. "How'd you do that? You didn't even get the question out all the way," he asks me. He looks over at the Ashley's. "All right. I'm gonna go for it." Menlo taps my arm and walks over to Ashley A. "Hey." Menlo calls her.

Ashley A looks back at him confused. "Er? Are you talking to me?" she asks.

"Ashley A. I was inquiring, I mean, more like asking, if there was any chance you'd wanna go to the sock hop dance with me, at all?" Menlo asks.

Ashley T and Ashley B giggle and move away to the side so that Ashley A and Menlo can have some alone time. Vince comes over to me, but he doesn't greet me as he's engulfed on what Menlo and Ashley A are saying too.

"Let me just stop you right there," says Ashley A, putting her hand out in a stop. "I'm gonna _assume_ that you've lost your mind, so let me get you familiar with how its supposed to work. Boys like you don't talk to girls like me, and girls like me _don't wanna_ talk to boys like you."

"Why can't you take a chance with a boy like me?" asks Menlo.

"Because I'm too pretty for you. Because you're weird-looking. Because you're a swell-head suck up snitch. But mostly, because I'd rather open mouth Señor Fusion kiss a homeless guy infected with a fatal disease, than even consider the possibility of touching your wiry, gangrenous, exceptionally vile, bad hair everyday, snaggle gap-toothed, specface. You smell me?"

Ashley A turns around and laughs towards the Ashleys.

Menlo looks embarrassed. He tries to smell Ashley A's hair while she's not looking, but gets too close as he treads on her shoe.

"Sorry," he says.

"Ugh! Did you just _step_ on my Timmy Woos? _Loser,_ " Ashley A goes, as she walks off with the other two Ashleys.

Vince goes over to Menlo as I follow him. "Dude?" Vince asks him as he nudges his side.

"Menlo?" I ask. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, certainly," Menlo replies quickly in a clunky manner. He's looking right up at the ceiling.

"You can come with us, man," Vince goes on, rubbing Menlo's arm. "You don't need to be with an Ashley."

"Thanks for the offer," Menlo replies, still looking upwards. "But I _have to come_ anyway, because I'm sorting out the music and entertainment, _which_ I should really be getting back to. I have some paper work to file and my organizing is kind of taking a nose dive too so."

Menlo finally puts his head down straight. Tears flow out of his eyes. He was holding back tears. Menlo speed walks away from his desk where he's raising the funds.

Vince and I look at each other.

Poor Menlo.

* * *

It's the end of school. The day went so quickly but at the same time so drearily. I leave Gretchen and Geoffrey as I go to the bus stop. I set out to go towards the apartment side of Arkansas. I don't have to travel as far as I did when I went to River City. Now whenever I meet my dad, it's at a much shorter distance.

I'm here.

The place is really drawn out and dull looking. An abandoned church with a run down hostel right next to it.

Going inside, it has its doors open with people coming in and out. Lots of older people. A lot of backpackers. The residents are the same, if not kinda familiar, to the ones running the protests in River City that one time.

I pass by an open room. It's Dad and Marcus. They have a bedroom with two bunk beds, like a temporary looking one.

"Dad?" I ask him, standing by the doorway.

"Hey, Mikey," Dad replies, lifting his hand out to invite me in. "Once again you bask us with your presence."

"Hello Mikey," Marcus greets as well.

"Uh Dad, and I guess, Marcus?" I ask them both, walking inside their room. "Is there any other way, so _we can not_ do this?"

"No," Dad replies. "Your mom and I both want full custody, but what we can't agree on is _who_ you should live with. I'm not implying that by not picking either one of us you'll never see the other again. But you have to choose, Mikey. You either live with Marcus and I—"

Marcus grins and says, "And you get to have two dad's—"

"Or you live with your mom," Dad finishes. "Let me add. If you _do_ choose us, we will pick out an actual apartment. It's already lined out, actually. If you don't want to live with us then, well, me and Marcus will continue to be drifters flowing our love of anti-war and peaceful protest. It's up to you."

"I need some air," I say.

I leave Dad's and Marcus' room. People walk passed me into other open doors. Backpack travelers of the sought. There's a guy walking passed me. He has a hood over his head. I've seen him before. At school and even further than that. I follow him down the hallway.

He closes his door behind him. I take a second to settle myself. I knock on it.

The door opens. It's James Stone. He looks at me lifeless.

"Heyyathere," I say out in a rush.

It comes out in a jumble.

James Stone doesn't respond. His hood is still over his head. His eyes look beady and tired.

I continue. "I, uh, know it might seem odd that I want to reason with you, but I think there's actually some good in your heart."

James grunts at me, closing his door slowly.

"And I think you feel bad for what you did," I say. James Stone opens his door again, looking intrigued. He has disguises and masks on the ground and hanging around his room. "I just wanted to say that I don't know what you're feeling right now, just like how you don't know how _I'm_ feeling. I don't know your life or what you're going through. So I forgive you for what you did to TJ. I have no bitterness towards you. And if you ever wanted to do the right thing, I think we could find some level ground. So, _what do you say?_ "

James Stone smiles at me. He puts his hand on my shoulder for a second. Could he be really contemplating a new friendship?

He lets go off my shoulder. He slams the door shut on my face. I stand frozen by his door.

I wait.

The door remains closed.

So much for reconciling.

* * *

 **It seems that Geoffrey has waited for me outside school,** but everyone else is out here too.

"Mikey!" shouts Geoffrey, running at me. **  
**  
"Hey, what's with all the commotion?" I ask **,** as I look at everyone talking amongst themselves.

"Schools closed," Geoffrey says. "Utterly. Completely."

"What you mean _completely_?"

"It's dead and gone. _Kaput_. _Don't let the good lord hit ya where the good lord split ya_. _Over._ "

I walk over to the front of the school. The front entrance of the school is all boarded up with hard wood. On the wood blocking the door shut 'Thaddeus V closed forever' is written in red. There's B.O.E yellow tape around the front door too. Gretchen is bent down reading the notice to herself that's been left there. She looks shocked as she's covering her mouth with her hand as she reads it.

"But I've already bought my 60's style suit," I say.

"You're not the only one," says Geoffrey. "Um. Mikey can I ask you something? Something quite personal?"

"Okay."

"You know how I crushed so hard for Gretch all those years ago in elementary school?"

"Yeah."

"And how I said I think I will never recover from it? On how she swore payback, handcuffed me, and said I had to follow her in science club and help with her frog dissection?"

"Sure," I say, unsure where he's going with this. "You need help asking her to the—?"

"Mikey you're not getting it," he replies, shaking his head. "Okay. Let's imagine a _guy_ lady bird likes _another_ _guy_ ladybird more than just friends, hmm, maybe _lady_ birds are a bad example."

"Geoffrey!" I say, adamant.

"I'm gay, Mikey. I wanna date boys. My whole life flashed before my eyes when Gretchen tricked me into not loving her anymore. You know I still love her as friends, but I've never even liked a girl that way since then. And honestly I think boys are cute. I tried to tell you months ago—"

"That's what you tried to tell me in my garden."

"And again before you said it was a difficult subject for you," he replies. I move in, hug him, then let him go again. "I'm not even gonna go to the sock hop anyway. It's too, I dunno, hetero, like, I mean, I don't know if they'll be accepting if I wanted to go with a boy. That's why I'm not going. I'd be lying to myself if I went with a girl."

"You're like my best friend here," I say. "You _have to_ come."

"You and I both know that's not true. You and _Gus_. Spinelli, Vince. _Gretchen! TJ!_ Oh, well, you know. Mikey, I'll only go if you come with me. For moral support."

"Okay. Yes. Of course."

Geoffrey leaves.

I look across the high school green and see Ashley T. She lets out a subdued smile across at me.

Um. Uh.

 _Oh no!_ Ashley T's my date. I forgot. Why do I keep forgetting these things?

"Uh! Damn it!"

* * *

 **I'm spending time alone with my regrets** of what could have been. I fiddle my fingers around my keyboard. Nothing coherent. Just some random notes on the keys. All my inspiration have deteriorated. There's a knock on my bedroom door.

Mom makes her way in anyway, before I even say come in.

"Mikey-baby?" she asks. "Are you just gonna stay in your room all night?"

"I think," I reply.

I turn around at her as I sit on the edge of my bed.

She sits next to me. "I'm sorry your school closed, honey, but you can't blame yourself."

"But Mom," I reply. "I was supposed to have the sock hop tonight. There was only one day of school left. Tomorrow. Now there's no way it's gonna happen."

"Honey," Mom starts. "You know when you came home and told me that you got detention, you know what my first thought was?" I shake my head. **"** I thought. Wow. My son can actually get in trouble. I was impressed."

"Mom," I laugh.

"Sometimes, honey, things don't always plan out the way you want them to. Sometimes you spend a long time in denial saying to yourself 'it's okay', 'everything will fall into place', but that doesn't always happen. Sometimes you should just do what you need to do, no matter how much you thought you loved that person," Mom says. She pauses and carries on. "This dance you're having means a lot to you. You want that dance, then go have it."

"What?" I ask. "But Mom, it's—"

"Still there," she says, getting up from my bed. "It's closed off but the school is still standing, isn't it? I strongly doubt they could put all three hundred students or so in detention." She takes out my 60's suit and puts it up against her chest. "Besides, you'd look so handsome in this."

I look back at Mom.

She smiles back.

* * *

Ready or not I head towards Vince's house. I knock twice on his front door.

Vince reveals himself from around the door. He beams a wide smile back at me.

"Mikey!" he greets out loud.

"Hey Vince," I reply back. "You, erm—?"

"Hol' up," Vince interrupts, putting his hand up in a pause. "Who tagged you in? Was it _Wylie?"_ he asks. He turns around inside. "Aye Wylie! You sore loser!"

"No, I'm here because—"

" _Herk_ sent you?" Vince asks again. "Well, playing with four people with widescreen's just as good."

Vince walks back as he lets me in. I make my way inside his house. What is Vince talking about? I lose my shoes and follow Vince as he goes up his staircase.

I enter his bedroom. The two friends of his he was yelling to from earlier are in here. Herk and Wylie. They all have wireless controllers in their hands, playing video games with a gigantic television in front of them. It's almost too big for the room, let alone the side wall. I wonder how Vince could have afforded this. It must have been a gift for winning the football golden cup or something.

Vince turns over to his friend Herk. "You wanted it to be two on two," he goes. "The scrawny versus the colossus."

"Huh?" Herk replies all confused. "I never called Mikey."

Herk and I have never talked together at high school let alone has he ever called me before.

Vince turns to Wylie.

"Nope," Wylie says sensing Vince look at him but not turning around.

Vince looks back at me.

"I've been _trying_ to say, I've come here on my own accord," I explain to him. "I wondered if you wanted to get the dance back."

Wylie and Herk laugh at me.

Vince doesn't laugh but it looks like he's about to. "Have you heard yourself?" he asks, sitting down on the foot of his bed, picking up his controller. "We dodged a freaking bullet. _The dance is dead._ That sorta stuff are just for the girls anyway. Just chill with us tonight, man."

"I don't want to. These dances are supposed to be special. A coming together. Not just the awkward chaperoned slow dancing, but the beauty of a banquet."

Wylie looks unconvinced. "Doesn't sound as good as obliterating some intestine-chewing-corpses from beyond the grave," he says.

Herk ignores Wylie and looks at me. "School's closed," Herk reiterates.

"It only will be if we let it," I reply.

"Okay," Vince sighs, dropping his controller. He moves up to his small cupboard, taking out his varsity jacket and putting it on. "Let's open it back up then. I'm sure the team can bum rush the school or something."

Wylie laughs still focused on the screen. "Are you joking?" Wylie asks. "We can't just leave and likely get into a heap of trouble just cause _Mikey_ wants a dance."

"Mikey's my _best_ friend," Vince argues, enunciating each word with meaning. "If he needs me, he needs me. End of. Besides, you actually have a date tonight."

"With Susan," Herk finishes.

Vince continues in Wylie's direction. "Anything that can stop your unhealthy infatuation with Ashley Q and move on to a new girl, _whose quite cute by the way_ , is worth getting in trouble for," he says. He looks back at me. "So, what did Gretch say?"

"I haven't seen her yet," I reply.

"'Kay," Vince says very slowly looking stumped I've come to see him first. "You meet her and we'll meet you outside the school." He moves up to me and taps my arm. "We're gonna _do_ this."

Wylie sits there shaking his head, looking beside himself having been so comfortable before I came. Herk gets up himself. Vince parts his head encouragingly for me. I take that as a signal to continue on to Gretchen's. I head back down his stairs. I collect my shoes and leave through his front door.

I carry back on foot.

I walk through the neighborhood.

Gretchen is about four blocks away from Vince's. She really does seem to be the furthest person in proximity away from everyone else in our group. It does make me appreciate when she could go to any school, yet she decides to stay with us.

Working up a bit of a sweat, I reach her house. Good ole' reliable Gretchen. How it used to vex me so how she lives in walking distance of the Floppy Burger. But now that feeling of jealousy has more than subsided.

I ring her doorbell.

She answers it with haste.

"Greetings Gretchen," I say.

Gretchen looks perplexed at me. "Mikey? Are you okay? What you need help with?"

" _Specifically?_ " I ask her. She nods her head. "I need help with opening the school long enough to bring back the sock hop dance."

"Oh," Gretchen sighs. She thinks in deeply and her eyes soften. "Come in." She opens the door for me as I walk inside. She closes the door behind me. She starts pacing around. "Well, I propose you contact the leaders of the different affiliates of school. That can give you less time inviting people and more time getting the school ready. Have you thought of that? The school will need music, decorations, catering and have you thought of how to get inside the school?"

"Vince is doing it," I reply.

"Hmm, okay," Gretchen goes, taking her finger from her chin and stopping her short strides. She looks down along her house. "Mom! I'm going out!"

With an opening of an office door, Mrs Grundler comes out. "Where will that be?" she asks Gretchen.

Gretchen looks back at me and then her mom again. "To the mall," she lies back.

"At _this_ hour?" her mom replies.

"The arcade to be specific," Gretchen adds. "It doesn't close until really late."

Mrs Grundler prompts us to follow her into her office. She takes a picture of Gretchen and pins it on to her large board timetable. There seems to be other pictures of her patients there too. Some I recognize. Maddie from school has a picture on there with a tick by her name saying 'cured'. Bradley from school has a picture with a question mark beside it. She takes a pen up and starts writing.

"Average duration?" she asks, waiting with her pen.

"Three hours or so," Gretchen replies.

"Primary reason?" her mom asks.

"Recreation, you know, hanging out."

Gretchen's mom fills up the information on her board. Her face suddenly shifts into a soft smile.

"Okay," her mom says, popping the marker's cap back on to the pen. "Have fun."

Gretchen and I exit the office again. We wait by the stairs as Gretchen goes up to her bedroom.

I'm left alone with Mrs Grundler.

I smile. She just stares at me. I look away from her. It's a bit awkward.

"So, Mikey," she starts.

"Yes?" I reply.

"Do you have any emotional problems, insecurities or dilemmas you want to talk about?"

"Um," I say, scratching my hair. "None that I can think of."

Now that I think about it. There are. I can solve my own problems for the time being though.

She leaves me and goes back into her office, closing it shut. Gretchen comes back downstairs as she swings her coat on.

We walk outside together.

"I'll meet you at school," says Gretchen. She types on her phone. "These are the addresses of the leaders of every group in high school." She clicks send. She walks ahead of me as I stand still. "Late."

I walk the other direction.

I feel in my pocket the text Gretchen just sent me.

I'm lying to myself. I very do much have a dilemma. Do I let down a great girl who very much is into me? Or do I say no to a friend who needs my help at being accepted? For the time being I'll treat it like a homework assignment and just keep procrastinating.

* * *

I go on pursuit for the leaders. My first text direction leads me outside of the Quick-O mart. That can't be right. There's no other doors for any houses or anything.

The sliding doors open up before me. I walk in. This doesn't make any sense.

I go up to the till. Sue Bob Murphy's reading from a magazine.

She looks away from what she's reading. "Hey," she says. "What can I do ya for?"

"I'm in the wrong place, obviously," I reply, shaking my head.

"Huh?" she goes, putting her magazine to the side. "Someone give you the wronguns in the directions? Who was it? I might know him or her."

"You do," I reply. "Gretchen."

Sue Bob Murphy laughs. She stops when she see's me just staring back. "She's _always_ right, and she's _not_ one to play games," she says. "Oh!" She slaps the counter in thought. "Lemme guess. She gave you Jimmy's addy, right?"

I'm too confused to nod. Sue shouts out Jimmy's name. She goes back to what she's reading. With the sound of footsteps from creaking stairs, someone emerges from the back. Jimmy. The former Guru kid, who pretty much governs the United Nerds at school, comes out.

"Yes?" he replies to Sue. She doesn't reply, she just flicks through random pages and grunts, nodding her head towards me. Jimmy finally sees me. "Mikey. Hello?"

"Hi," I reply, jaggedly.

I didn't expect someone to live inside of a store like this. Or least, upstairs from it. Jimmy looks back at me expectantly.

"Um," I continue. "I'm getting everyone together. From school. The dance is back on."

"Okay, sounds good, liberating even," Jimmy says, "I'll be sure to tell the others."

I smile back. Jimmy goes back upstairs where I can hear more of his family up there. I walk back up to the store's entrance.

Sue Bob Murphy clears her throat at me. "Excuse me!" she says.

I turn back around.

"You're not gonna invite me?" she continues.

"Sorry, it's only really supposed to be for us, the students at Thad High," I reply.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she goes, flicking harder through her magazine until she reaches the end of it and starts from the beginning again. "Would be nice to give me a heads up or something."

I apologize but Sue doesn't forgive me. She doesn't say anymore as she serves other customers who come up to her.

I leave the store and continue back on foot.

I pass through a set of houses. A nice modest looking house. My next text leads me to this house. The garden looking well kept. Better than the front of _my_ house. I get up to the door and hit doorbell on it. The house buzzer plays a really joyful tune.

A cheery-looking lady and opens it up for me. "Hello?" she asks me.

"Hi ma'am," I reply, unsure where to go with this as there's no indication on whose house this is. "I'm sort of here from Thad high, and I'm—"

"Oh, okay," she says, cutting me off. She puts her hand by her mouth. "Oh, Noah!"

Noah? I don't think a _Noah_ comes to my school.

Happy giggling little children come by the lady's side. The ages of elementary and middle school children. The older father of the family comes out too trying to listen in. They're all holding board game cards. Almost an entire family is in front of me. All of them flourishing in blonde and brunette hair.

Drake comes out begrudgingly. A slow dead pace like he always has. His hair is dyed black again. He looks over at me. He almost smiles. Drake's a Noah.

"Hi, um, Noah," I start.

"Drake," he corrects, back at me. He screws his eyes back at his family. "Well, you people just gonna eaves on my convo or what?"

His family move away from the door. It's just me and Drake, from the emo kids, alone with each other by the door.

"I won't tell anyone at school," I say, noticing this must be embarrassing for him.

"What?" Drake replies, looking confused and _so_ apart from his family. "Just don't call me Noah, Mikey, that's all. So, you come to switch families?"

"Not _today,_ " I reply with a chuckle. Drake's face doesn't change from his sulk. I make a straight face too. "The school dance. We're gonna do it now, so I wanted to tell you in person."

" _Great,"_ Drake says back to me, still in his lazily monotone voice. "I'm _ecstatic_. I'll tell my friends. They'll be _happy_ too."

He closes the door at me.

I head back on my travels to the next house.

The house is multicolored in green, yellow and red. It's a lot more of a smaller house than Drake's, I mean Noah's, or even mine, Jimmy's too, but to be fair, Jimmy lives above the Quick-O mart and I didn't get to really see it.

I knock against the door of this shack.

Fingers Malloy answers the door. "Mikey Blumberg. What is good, my man?"

He lets me inside. His house is really nifty. The doors have bead curtains coming down in front of the open doors.

I explain to Fingers what I'm here for.

"All right," he says nodding his head at me. "Sounds feasible."

I head to my final house. It's no secret on who it's going to be. Well, not right now as I can see. There's only one person it could be now. Deshay. The last place to go is the school itself. Not just because that's where I'll meet Gretchen and Vince, but because that's where the accommodation for the tech kids are.

It's a big suburban home. The garden looks straight and perfect like at the football field at school. If an Ashley lived in a smaller house than the mansions I've heard they live in, it would be like this.

I press the doorbell. No answer. I do it a couple more times to no avail.

I don't like to bother people too much. But I don't care. There's no time to dwindle. There's still a school dance to organize. I look through the windows of the house to see if there's any life. I can't see anyone. I can just hear the sound of drums, guitar riffs, and piano keys coming from the garage on the side of the house. Maybe that's why they can't hear me.

I knock on the garage door.

The door lifts open. It's Deshay. Behind him is another guy on drums, a guy on a keyboard, and a girl with a guitar hanging from her strap as she fiddles with her microphone stand.

"Hi," I say to Deshay, who treats me like I'm not even here.

"Aiight, lets just freestyle something," Deshay says to his band. "Jam a little."

The girl, who looks like a vocalist, unwinds the cords from her arms. "I'll do, um, spin the bottle," she says.

"I'll rap this time," Deshay says.

His band members moan.

"Hey," Deshay says at them. "We can do pop this time, aiight? I'll put my freaking hatred of it to the side for once, okay?"

"Okay," she replies. "I guess we'll do the same thing for your _rapping._ " She air quotes with her fingers.

The drummer hits a _ba dum tss_ straight after she says that. _Ba dum_ of the snare drum, and _Tss_ of his cymbal.

Deshay sighs. The three of them fiddle a bit with their instruments until coming together with a similar sort of sound. The guy on the keyboard plays out synths from the chords. The drummer hits out a beat. A groove assimilates from them both. The girl in the band ignores her guitar for the moment and moves to her microphone.

" _Spin the bottle,_ " she sings, in auto-tune.

The music gets faster into a groove. The sounds are spacey and almost futuristic like. It makes me feel forward to summer.

"We put the—" she sings in her natural singing voice, before being cut off by Deshay.

"Uh, Deshay on the rise,

South side of the ark, mister beating the rhymes,

This time got me rocking on a mainstream track,

The flow starts then we both start following that,

Co-stars and the dote starts flowing from that,

They call me one trick pony, they didn't know I could rap,

I don't even write rhymes, they just throw on a track,

The whole writing thing was holding me back,

She said "hell nah!" to a date, spraying with mace,

A world without me is like food without taste,

A world without me is like you without a face,

I used to daydream and fall towards space,

Shooting to be a star,

Music will take you far away,

When destined to be the one, less Finn than Rey,

So let it go, let it go, like Queen Arendelle would say,

The world is a stage, there's parts to play,

Gon' kill it. Come on," Deshay goes, now finally indicating the girl vocalist to sing.

She sings, "I'm like lightning in the _niiight_ ,

Put this lighting in you're _eeeyes_ ,

Bottles gon' keep on spinning, till we're kissing, it's all right with _meee,_ yeah,

Put the lighting in the bottle, spin it."

" _Heeell_ yeah!" they all go.

" _Put the lighting in the bottle, spin it,"_ she sings back.

" _Heeell_ yeah!"

"Put the lightning in the bottle, lightning in the bottle, lightning in the bottle, spin it, yeah, yeah."

They continue to jam until the song dies down.

That was amazing. It was really passionate in areas and it took me away. The great rhythm and percussion was mesmerizing.

"That was—" I begin to say.

"Pure suckage?" the girl singer asks.

"I thought it was good," Deshay goes.

I agree with him.

"You have to take over _all the time,_ " she says.

"Who bought you guys all these instruments?" Deshay asks all of them. They don't respond. "Yeah. Me." He continues as they all look at the instruments they're holding. "Whose garage are we using to practice? Yeah. Mines. Who drives us to different talent shows? Yeah. I do."

"Well, actually," goes the guy on the keyboard. "Your mom does."

The drummer does a _Ba dum tss_ again.

Deshay walks away from his band and leaves through a door that looks like it leads inside house. He slams it shut. His band members don't even look fazed.

"Looks like we're a band member short," the girl singer says. She looks at me. "Can _you_ play?"

"Um," I go.

I ponder what it would be like to be in a band.

Deshay returns back from the door. "Mikey!" he shouts at me. "Come!"

I smile back at his band members and go through the door.

Deshay's home is pretty big. The wooden floors are shiny. Deshay's disappeared again so I take initiative and just go up his large staircase.

I hear some music coming from an open room playing out loud. I go inside. Deshay is sitting on his bed, facing up, scrolling though his phone. I notice the music is coming from a spinning vinyl record. His room has a lot of old memorabilia in it.

"Nice room," I say.

Deshay doesn't reply.

I hold up the case for the record that's playing. It's a Steely Dan vinyl called 'Can't buy a thrill.'

"This sounds really good," I say, listening to it. "Hey. We could play this at the school dance."

"What?" Deshay says, sitting upright. "Is that why you came over? It's coming back?" I nod. "Well, its from the seventies not the sixties, so." He goes back on his bed. He chuckles. "A 60's style sock hop dance. You know, back then, _that's_ when the hipsters were actually a serious movement. If everyone's gonna be dressed for the sixties its just gonna fall on the hype train again. I think I was born in the wrong decade sometimes." I nod and smile. Deshay rolls over to face me again. "Okay, I know I try too hard with this stuff. I just wanna be different, you know?"

"I understand."

"I'll tell the rest of the hipsters about the dance," he sighs.

I leave to the door. "I'll see you later," I say.

"Mikey!" Deshay shouts back. "I'm probably not gonna come. Cause, uh, you know." He avoids my eye contact. "Those damn posers at school, right? Everyone's gotta like the 60's now."

I walk back and pat him on his arm. I make way down his staircase and reach his front door. That's odd. I can only hear the music coming from Deshay's room now. The garage is silent. The band has stopped playing without him. Only the seventies music playing.

 _'You go back Jack do it again,_

 _Wheel turnin' 'round and 'round,_

 _You go back Jack do it again.'_

I leave through the front door.

I reach the school. The big reinforced thing on the door of the school has been caved in. It must've been the jocks. They couldn't wait. It's all over the ground with a big hole where it must have been charged into.

Wow. This is really happening.

I walk inside the school. I walk passed the lockers. I take a glimpse in the gym. Gretchen is talking with the fourteen or so jocks. I make an eye exchange with Gretchen. She smiles back at me and flicks her eyes for me to carry on with what I'm doing. I walk out through the doors to where we have recess.

I go passed the bleachers. There's a building where the foreign students live. I walk inside the accommodation. There's short hallways with nice carpet. It's much more well kept than the hostel Dad lives in with Marcus. It reminds me of a college campus.

The tech kids walk passed me with bags on their backs, and rolling their luggage. They say quick byes to me as they walk to where I just entered. Am I too late? There's only one door left with luggage all packed sat beside it. Kumiko comes out of that door. She raises her head with a nod at me. She closes the door behind herself.

"Hello Kumiko," I say to her. "What's going on?"

"We're being kicked out of school, that's what's going on," Kumiko moans, taking her bag.

"You think you can make the sock hop dance?" I ask her. "We've decided to do it now. I've been round my friend's houses, so we know—"

"Mikey," she says, stopping me. " _Please_ tell me I'm the first person you went to come see?" Kumiko asks back, rather than answering me.

"No, I mean—"

"You're not Santa Clause, Mikey. You're not going to hit up _every_ house before the dance," she says. She puts her hand out. "Give me your phone."

"Erm, but why?"

"Now," Kumiko orders.

I dig in my pocket and give her my phone. She looks oddly at it, then looks at me. She's not impressed by my cheap phone by the looks of it. She flicks through it with lightning fast fingers.

"Wait," she goes, looking confused at my phone. "Don't you have Whaddown?"

"No," I reply. "I just use text."

"Amateur."

She downloads the app and the updates for me. She explains that she's connecting every person in school into a group chat, with the dance as the subject, and me as the admin. She hands it back.

"We'll come," she says, affirmatively.

She's probably speaking on the tech kids behalf.

I turn back around. I feel a deep rumble in my pocket.

"Ow!" I go, reaching for my phone and taking it out.

I'm getting a hundred notifications. It's like Kumiko put my phone's vibrations on the highest settings too.

"And Mikey?" Kumiko sighs. "You _could_ go to one more house. Maddie Feldman. She may be a dumb, big-mouth, lesbian, chauvinist. But she's good."

* * *

I look in front of the mirror. I fix my lapels. There's still time. Everyone knows about the dance by now. The suit feels snug on me.

I go downstairs. Mom looks back at me as she waits by the door. She gives me a hug and lets me go. It the sort of the feeling I got when I grew out of Bonkies for the second time and I started taking the school bus without her.

I head to the bus stop. It's been helping me get from house to house so far. But the later it's getting, the longer the waiting times are becoming. I stand in my 60's suit. No bus is in sight.

I car drives slow in front of me. I've seen that car before, especially the guy that's driving it. It's Spinelli's older brother, Joey. He stops in the middle of the road.

"Hey," Joey greets gleefully, not even batting an eye at me with a huge grin. He finally has a look at me. "What you doing?"

"I'm waiting for the bus," I reply.

"Yuh, I can see that," he goes. He peeks out his window and emphasizes with his head looking from left to right with no bus coming at all. "Jump in."

"It's all right. I'm already—"

"Just get in, man."

"You really don't have to," I say, stepping forward towards him as he looks so calm, as other cars start driving around him. "What if where _I'm_ going isn't on the way _you're_ going—?"

"Mikey," Joey tuts, shaking his head. "Think about it. If _I_ was standing on the side of the road, and you pull up in a nice-ass car like mine, would you offer _me_ a ride?"

"Yes of course."

"Then shut up and get in," he says. He pauses and smiles. " _Homie."_

I get in to the passenger side. Joey drives on.

"You look all spruced up," he says. "What's with the get up? Was your connecting bus a time machine?"

"It's for the dance," I explain.

I tell Joey all about what I've been doing this afternoon.

"Taking it by the scruff of the neck," Joey goes. "Me likey. So, where's the next destination for ya?"

"Maddie Feldman," I reply. "She lives—"

"29 Rockville ave," Joey says on the fly. "Yeah. I know _all_ my sisters friend's houses by now. The tall blonde one that can't shut up."

He drives me there. I sit in the car just outside Maddie's home. I don't move.

"What's up?" Joey asks.

I confide in Joey about my dilemma. Not whether I'm gonna choose my mom over my dad to live with or vise versa, but my other problem I've dug myself in. Promising to go to the dance with two people.

"Well, I've dated two people at the same time before," Joey says, looking through his car's window. "But it ain't even like that, is it? It's either your lady friend or your homie. Hmm, well, it would be no problem for me, I'd choose the young honey every time. She's rich, you know?"

"Yeah, but if I don't go with Geoffrey it would feel like I'm not supporting what he's going through," I say.

"Then go with your friend," Joey says. He's not that much of a help in this. "You'll figure it out. Or you won't, and you'll just go to the dance with both of them at the same time until they both find out. Same diff."

I get out the car with a sigh.

"Don't sweat it, big fella," Joey says, "I'll be right here when you get back."

He relaxes as he puts his arm out the window. Just like Spinelli, they have the uncanny ability to be super relaxed about almost everything, but with a short temper that's ready to snap at any moment.

I head up to Maddie's house and knock on her door. No answer. I do it a few more times. I'm a lot more earnest today, like a salesman. I guess I have been selling the idea of everyone going to the sock hop tonight.

"Mom! The door!" I hear being yelled from inside.

There's no answer again except for Maddie shouting.

"Mom!" Maddie shouts again. "Someone's at the door! Do I have to do everything around—!" She opens the door and notices it's me. "Oh, hey Mikey. Nice suit."

"Thank you," I reply. "I don't know how to really ask you, so here it is. I need—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Maddie says, waving her hands. "Hey now, you know I'm a girl that likes girls. I'm just putting it out there."

"Yeah, I know that, Maddie," I say, still standing outside with Maddie by the door. "I need someone to organize the sock hop dance, and I thought—"

Maddie gasps covering her mouth saying, "And you thought of me. Thank you. That's so sweet of you. But to be honest there's not really anyone else that could do it, but I'm still honored." She pauses. "Okay. Lets go. No time to lose." She takes her coat from the hanger and shuts the front door behind her.

She walks ahead of me.

"Hey!" I shout, as I catch up to her. "Aren't you supposed to tell your mom where you're going?"

"Shotgun!" Maddie says, as she goes in the front seat of Joey's car. I head to the back seat. "My mom's too busy with her yoga classes to know I've gone. It's no probl _e_ mo."

Joey trades a smile with me off the reverse mirror. He begins to drive off again.

"Have you read the sort of things that they're saying on the Whaddown group chat?" Maddie asks. She caries on before I can answer. "There's over three hundred people on it. It's insane. People who don't even say two words with each other at school are now saying the most banging banter like they've been hanging out together all year. Which we know they _haven't_. The whole school's trading off in gossiping and junk. I must've screen snapped two or three pages already. I can see how the old Maddie was now. You know?"

Joey looks confused when she says, 'old Maddie'

Maddie brainstorms ideas to herself saying, "The Ashleys can order the catering on speed dial." She turns to me. "Hows you and Ashley _the-nice-one_ doing? We going to her place next?"

Joey and I trade glances again.

"I promised her and Geoffrey that I'd go with both of them, and they both don't know I promised to go with the other," I reply.

 _"Shut up!"_ Maddie gasps.

Maybe telling Maddie was the wrong idea.

 _"_ Well, you have to tell the truth, Mikey," says Maddie. "If you go to the person you're not going with first, you can save the good news for the other. It would be a lot easier that way. The worst thing you could do is _not_ tell them. It crosses a bond of trust when you're lying that you may be unlikely to put back together so easily." _  
_

I'm surprised. Maddie actually said something really mature. Joey looks shocked as well by that.

We're outside school. Maddie gets out of the car. I make my way out too.

"No," Maddie says, leaning by the car's window at me. "What you think you're doing?"

"Sorting out the dance," I reply.

" _Uh uh,_ " Maddie goes, like the sound for a wrong answer on a buzzer. "You have to explain to them face to face. It's the only way."

I get out of the car. I stand up against Maddie. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

I get back in the car.

Joey doesn't look when he says, "Good choice."

* * *

Joey drives me until I'm outside Geoffrey's house. I leave the car with a soft shut of the door. I head towards his home and ring his door bell.

Geoffrey reveals himself. "Hey, Mike the mauler," he says. "No, I'm joking. Kindergarten was a _long_ time ago, weren't it?"

"I have something to tell you," I begin.

"I'm so glad we're going together. I know it's weird. Way out of nowhere. But you're doing so much for me. My family knows I'm gay now. The whole shebang. I couldn't have done this without you."

"That's great, it's just—"

"I don't know what I 'd do if I didn't have this. The last time we'll all be together. I don't know what I'd do if something would change that. I think that's what really freaked me out about Drake's poem all those months ago. It reminded of me of self harming myself. I was so far gone. This dance now is _actually_ everything. So what did you come over to say, pal?"

"Um," I say, lost with what to say. "I'll see you there."

Geoffrey smiles and closes the door on me.

I trudge back to the car and sit next to Joey.

I sit in silence.

"So," goes Joey at me. "How'd he take it?"

I just look back at Joey and don't say anything. I think he took that as, I blew it.

He drives outside of Ashley T's house, nonetheless.

The rumors were true. It hits me in the face. Ashley's T's house is a mansion.

I go towards her house. The cars parked outside of the house look so expensive. Everything looks as if a server has cleaned everything, and that's just the outside parts so far. I press her doorbell.

I slowly feel all wrong. I don't wanna hurt lovely Ashley.

The door swiftly opens.

It's Ashley T's little brother. Tyler Tomassion. He looks up at me. He must be, twelve, and be in the seventh grade by now. I think. He looks me up and down eating 'a million dollar' bar. Twice as expensive as any other candy bar.

I smile at him. "Hi there," I greet.

Tyler just eats his chocolate bar, staring back at me.

"Is Ashley in?" I ask.

Tyler walks away as he leaves the door open behind him.

Ashley T looks at Tyler and goes around him as he enters inside, having not noticed me yet. "Why are you leaving the door open like that?" she says, heading over to close it.

I waltz inside.

Ashley T pauses mid stride with her mouth slightly gaping open at me. She runs up to me and hugs me. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

She takes me by the arm. My shoes squeak against the marble floor of the house. The front door is left open. I'm lead inside her kitchen.

"Mom, Dad," Ashley says to her parents, "this is Mikey."

Her father greet me first saying, "How do you do?"

He takes my hand to shake.

"Hello dear," Mrs Tomassion says, before kissing each of my cheeks.

"It's a pleasure," I reply, scratching my hair, feeling out of place. "Your lovely abode mirrors perfection."

Mr Tomassion says, "Hm, okay." He looks back at his daughter approvingly. He turns to me again. "So, I hear your school has fallen to the unfortunate mishap of Thaddeus' mismanagement."

Mrs Tomassion nods her head in agreement, saying, "Tragic, really."

A girl, older than Ashley comes in, saying, "Could you guys at least _try_ not to sound so posh whenever we have guests?"

"Mikey, this is Cece," Ashley says, "my sister."

Older sister? That can't be right? Can it? She does very much look like Ashley with their shared eyes and complexion. Except Cece's hair is straight where as Ashley has wavier hair.

Cece looks odd at me. " _You're_ Ashley's date?" she asks. "And you two _actually_ study in the same year?" She looks over at Ashley as she takes a muffin from the table. "You sure can pick 'em, sis."

Ashley takes me by the arm again. I follow her inside her house. There's so much room. We enter a room with a dim light. I think Ashley's bringing me here to kiss, but I see Tyler and her younger sister Brittany are already there. Tyler is back at eating his chocolate bar.

It's a theater room. Her cinema screen has got Vince's TV screen beat. They're in the middle of watching a Billy Blaisedell movie.

Ashley sits on the sofa. She puts her hands under her chin and stares right at me.

I look back at her. "I thought all the Ashleys shared the uncanny similarity of all having one younger brother and one even younger sister with the same names," I say.

"Sure we do," replies Ashley.

"Shh!" Brittany goes with her finger on her lips.

Tyler ignores them both and just puts the volume up higher.

Ashley carries on moving closer to me. "But you don't expect all us Ashley's to be exactly the same do you?" she asks.

"No," I reply. "I guess not."

Ashley T takes a popcorn from the table in front of her before she goes on. "Ashley A just has a brother and a sister, but she pretty much acts like she's an only child. Ashley B _was_ an only child until her parents adopted Brittany and Tyler from an orphanage. And as for Ashley Q, she has the _biggest_ family. Two or three older brothers and sisters. I can't really remember. A big, you know, Irish family, _that's her_. But we don't wanna be those mean girls anymore. I actually try to count my _like_ usages now."

"Don't," I say, "I think it's cute."

Ashley moves in even closer.

Tyler makes a noise watching the movie.

"I need to get changed if I'm ever going to get to the dance on time," says Ashley, getting up on her feet. "I should of started getting dressed an hour ago. You can stay here. Pig out in the kitchen. Our maid's somewhere. Or you can, like, walk around the house. It's so big, by the time you come full circle, I might be dressed by then."

"Erm, Ashley?"

"Yeah?"

I bite my lip. "Nothing," I say.

"Okay," she replies smiling wide. "I have to go. You're a guest. So anything you want, just ask Salbatora."

I watch the movie for a second. I get up.

The family lets me explore the house. It's gigantic. Different rooms seems to cater for different events. There are three or so dining rooms so far. A chandelier in the hallway. A swimming pool in the back garden doesn't seem to have any water in it though. Still, there's a lot of space. A lot of green for a back garden. It's like a forest.

I enter one of the empty rooms.

There's a grand piano. I haven't been next to one of these for a long time. Just my keyboard I fiddle with at home. I take seat by it.

I sit still in deep thought. The phone eventually goes silent. I've got over a thousand notifications. _Good grief!_

I feel my fingers on the piano, putting my phone to the side. I think of everything that's happened. Everything _that could_ happen later tonight. Thinking I need to change schools soon and hold on to my best friend's for dear life. I hit the piano keys with soft reverb but harsh precision. Constructing patterns in space and time. Trading with both my fingers. Sharing tunes off of the black and white stripes. From my mind to my heart. My soul to my body. Like how I need both Mom and Dad in my life. Like how I need both Geoffrey Luciario and Ashley Tomassion in the dance.

My phone goes crazy. It spazes around the table uncontrollably. It's a message from Maddie.

I press down the keys hard. Letting all my disappointment, my nerves, my ache, leave my body in music. Feeling each one hit one after the other.

I drag my finger across the black and white keys.

I snatch up my phone.

I walk back to the front of the house. I look back up at the open stair case. Cece and Mrs Tomassion are putting on Ashley T's dress from the back zipper. I let out a sigh. I have one last look at her and leave through the front door.

I meet Joey again in his car.

He needs no indication.

He drives me back towards school.

* * *

Joey stops the car a little bit of a distance away from the school. Maybe I can have a little think with a brisk walk. Joey puts his fist out for me. I bump his knuckles with mine.

I love Spinelli's big brother, Joey. He's everybody's big brother.

"Do the _damn_ thing tonight, big fella," Joey says to me, as I step out of his car. I look back at him. "You got this. It's _you man_. It's _you."_ He gives me one more parting look. "I'll see you around, Mikey."

He drives away.

I let out a sigh and breath in and out.

I take a walk down the road. Staring down at my feet and then walking straight putting my chest out more.

The sun goes down and into night around me. It pans perfectly as the backdrop as I walk. It's as if the universe has decided to crowd around me and this dance. Everything's dimming into the evening.

It's the middle of May of the very last shades of the day. I see that nobody's kids anymore, well, we look that way with no teachers. Some teens glide on their bikes as they ride passed me. Honking at me. People from school. Tech kids. Emos. Hipsters. United Nerds. Doing wheelies. Rolling on scooters. Ones who have they're hover boards have them glowing in colors from underneath. Shining against the night.

I head to the front of the school.

I stop.

I can't believe what has bestowed before me. There's a queue of people waiting to get inside of the school. They're all standing against the side behind some red rope. It's as if the dance has turned into a club. I get closer. The red rope holding the teens are people that don't even go to our school. Herk is dressed as a bodyguard with shades on.

I walk up to him still in awe of everything that's happening. People from school park their bikes up and head inside.

"Hey!" Herk says to me, calling me over. "It's Mikey, isn't it?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Well, come in," Herk goes, lifting the red rope up for me, patting me on the back. "You go to school here."

I look to the side with people giving me frustrated looks.

I walk inside.

The hallway is decorated with stringers, balloons, with the sock hop banner back up. Two students are making out quite passionately on the side. Ruffling each others hair as they do it. An emo and a hipster. I can hear the music is getting much louder as I go up to the gym.

I can't believe it.

This is unbelievable.

The dance is fully underway. I didn't think the gym was this big. Everyone from school is in here. Some have kept with the style with frilly dresses. Gretchen's wearing a lovely polka dot dress. Vince is in a suit with a fedora hat. There's a table serving snacks and punch. A jukebox in the corner. Confetti on the ground. Deshay has changed his mind as his band is setting up on stage.

Maddie hasn't changed yet, still in her hoody, as she blows up a balloon with her face blushing. Beside her is someone I recognize. I think it's the Library kid from Third street. She's all dressed up beautifully. Another girl is by Maddie too, whose filling balloons straight from a gas container. I don't know who she is though.

Maddie waves me over. " _Yes Mikey!_ " she says with a high pitch voice. The gas container must have helium in it. " _Whoa! Oh my god!_ "

Maddie lets go of the balloon as it swirls and flies away from her hand. She's focused on someone behind me.

I turn around.

It's a girl standing before me. A green dress fitting the theme. Brunette hair going by her— _his_ shoulders?

"Geoffrey?" I ask.

Geoffrey has turned up cross dressed as a girl.

"Hey, man," he replies walking up to me with heels.

Maddie puts her hand in the air and gives Geoffrey a high five. She starts laughing really hard. "I'm sorry—I—I. I can't believe—What? What are you—?" She wipes a tear away from her eyes. She sounds so insensitive. "I can't believe you're actually pulling it off."

"Really?" Geoffrey replies.

The Library kid and the other girl filling balloons comes over.

"Yeah," Maddie reaffirms.

Library kid nods her head. "Not _any_ guy can just where a dress like that," she says.

It's not even brunette hair. It's a wig. He does _actually_ fit into his dress. Like a girl.

The girl I don't know smiles at Geoffrey. "You look very pretty," that girl says, complimenting him. She turns to Maddie. "So, where am I supposed to put my nitrous oxide?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Maddie responds back to her. "Put it back in the science lab where you took it."

"But this is mine," she replies. "I bought this from home."

"Yeah whatever, Felicia," Maddie replies. She goes up to Geoffrey, wraps her arm in between his, and leads off with him. "So Geoffrey, what's with the sudden change? You trying to prove the truth that all boys—"

"Dude!" Vince goes, standing next to Gretchen, noticing what's going on and walking up to us. He claps hands with Geoffrey. "You're wild, man. You're wild."

Gretchen shakes her head. "Vince, what are you doing?" she goes at him. She puts her hand out for Geoffrey. "Hi, I'm Gretchen. Nice to meet you."

I look at her. "Gretch?" I say.

Vince makes a face and sighs, "Give her a minute."

Maddie looks likes she's about to laugh again. "For a smarty pants, you can be really slow sometimes," she says.

Geoffrey stares back at Gretchen. "I already know you, Gretch, and vice versa," he replies.

This leaves Gretchen looking completely and utterly confused. She pauses. Her mouth opens in shock for a moment when she looks likes she figured out it's him.

A girl walks up to us.

"Hello, Third Street people," this girl sighs.

Wait. I know her. It's Ashley Q.

"Hey Vince," Ashley Q goes. "Gretchen, Maddie, Felicia." She nods at the rest of us as she walks into the dance.

"Gees," Vince goes. "How many people are gonna turn up tonight?"

Library kid looks to the side. "Maddie?" she asks with her eyes screwed.

"Uh-huh," Maddie replies.

"Did you accidentally send the party on public again?"

"Pfft!" Maddie goes, blowing out with her cheeks. She checks her phone. "How dumb do you really think I am?" She stops scrolling through her phone. "Oops."

Vince and Gretchen go back to the dance. The gym is filling up with people from outside our school. The jukebox plays away with sixties music. People are mingling rather than dancing. Boys standing by the wall. Girls talking in groups looking over back at the boys. In the distance, Deshay is debating with his band on something.

Geoffrey, Maddie, her date Paige, and I walk together. That's the Library girl's actual name I guess. Paige. It's odd how as kids we've relied on these nicknames instead of learning all of our real names. Maddie and Paige talk about being each others dates and what it feels like being a gay teenager as us four walk around the sock hop dance. People give Geoffrey weird looks and the odd double take. Geoffrey doesn't seem to care anymore and he's embracing it. I guess I've made the right choice, well, until Ashley T turns up.

"Geoffrey," Maddie says at him. "You didn't answer my question."

"That's cause you never finished it," he replies.

"Do you think it's true that deep down every boy what's to dress up as a girl?" she asks.

Geoffrey looks at me and smiles. He looks back at Maddie. "No, why would you think that?" he asks.

Maddie goes for some punch, takes a sip, and stuffs her free hand in her hoody pocket. "Cause girls are awesome," she says.

Paige looks at Maddie's hoody and jeans. "Are you gonna change any time soon?" asks Paige.

Maddie shrugs. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

I look away from her. I look away from everyone. The Ashleys are here. Maddie may not be trying to impress but the Ashleys surely are. All their clothes are dripping with designer. Coordinating with the color scheme they used to have at Third Street. Pink, yellow and Green. I can't take my eyes off of Ashley T. She's stunning. Her dress sparkles off her make-up.

I don't even think _beautiful_ can best describe her.

Ashley T comes up to me.

"Ashley," I say to her. "You look. Pulchritudinous."

"Uh? What?" she replies, flexing her eyebrows looking utterly confused.

 _"I'm too poet savvy,"_ I say, apologizing. "That word might sound like it would best describe some dirty, disgusting, diseased thing, but it's the best way to describe you."

"Why's that?" she asks.

"Cause pulchritudinous, it means you're breathtaking. Heartbreaking. Beautiful."

"Wow," she gasps, looking around fluttering her lashes. " _Okay._ Okay. _Um,_ let's get some punch before I faint."

Oh, Geoffrey. I look to the side for him. He's been talking to Maddie and Gretchen all this time. Ashley B goes with Vince. Perhaps everything will fall into place.

Ashley T and I go to the table where the drinks are. Ashley A is there by herself.

"This is bull crap!" Ashley A says, sulking.

Vince goes up to her taking a cup. "You're not having a good time, Ashley A?" he asks.

"A good time?" she asks. "This dance is about as good as a _tit punch_." Ashley T chuckles to that. Spinelli's the only person whose said the phrase 'tit punch' before. That's where she must have got it from. "Oh, and FYI, you and I _both know_ you're talking to _m_ e. You don't _have_ to add the A at the end of my name, _every time_ you talk to me."

" _Sorry,_ " Vince goes, as he takes his filling of punch. He walks away from her and over to his friends. "Threads are tight, man. I saw this, er—"

Ashley A stands alone again by the table with Ashley T and I watching. Ashley Q walks over to get a drink and stands beside her. Ashley A and Q both don't say anything to each other. They show disdain with each other. Both mirroring each other with crossed arms. If it weren't for their flamboyant dresses they would look like a pair of emos.

Wylie goes over to the two girls. "You wanna dance?" he asks.

Ashley A rolls her eyes at him. "Well—"

"No," Ashley Q says, cutting in.

It was Ashley Q Wylie was indeed talking to in closer inspection.

"Wylie, I will never _ever_ dance with you," Ashley Q goes.

Susan comes up. "Wylie," she says to him, "You came with _me_."

Wylie looks at them two. "Hey, Ashley, I'd dump her in a heartbeat for you."

"Ugh!" Ashley Q goes, before storming away from the table. "You're so weird!"

Ashley Q walks away from Wylie as he goes after her. Susan goes the other away looking hurt.

Ashley A's by herself again.

Ashley T is hooked on all of this like some dramatic teen TV show is being showcased. We both look at Menlo organizing with his clipboard. Ashley A notices who we're looking at. Ashley A sighs and walks up to Menlo. Ashley T and I exchange looks and smile at each other.

Ashley A walks right up to Menlo. "Okay, this a one time deal," Ashley A says, as she puts her arm over Menlo's shoulders. Menlo drops his clipboard on the floor in shock. "Don't _touch_ me, _breath_ on me, or even _look_ at me for longer than three seconds, you got that?"

"Um," Menlo goes, hovering his hand over her waist looking unsure whether to touch her or not.

"Ugh! Come on," Ashley A says, putting Menlo's hand around her waist.

Geoffrey comes up to Ashley T and I. "Good for him," says Geoffrey.

"Oh my gawd!" Ashley T goes, covering her mouth at shock at Geoffrey, seeing him cross dressed for the first time perhaps.

Geoffrey smiles at her then me. "You already got a drink, _Date,_ " he goes.

"What is he talking about?" Ashley T asks me. She looks over at Maddie. "You're such a tomboy!"

Ashley T makes her way over at Maddie.

"She looks great," says Geoffrey looking at Ashley T leave, taking a sip. "I would have bet _you two_ would have gone to the dance together."

Ashley T returns back to our direction. I gotta think quick. It looks like Deshay's band is about to perform. I take Geoffrey by the hand and go through the crowd. I leave Ashley T looking on the side all confused, as Geoffrey and I get lost with all the people surrounding the stage in front of us.

"We're Spanish Fleek," Deshay announces to everyone on his microphone.

All the lights dimmer. The lights focus on to the stage. The girl of the band strums the strings of her guitar. The drummer hits the beat of his drums slow and melodically. The pianist hits a tune that synths with everything together. Deshay raps a verse a lot more slower with more feeling than he did earlier in his garage. He goes back and forth on the stage grabbing his chest a few times. People nod their heads to it. Others put their phones lights on and wave them in the air.

The female singer goes, "Again and again and again and again. _Dooo_ it again, _d_ ooo it again. Again and again and again and again. _Doooo_ it again, _dooo_ it again. Again and _agaaain-uh._ "

"Long drives call for dashboard confessions,

Learn that you a student, teacher life's lessons,

Your mental health care, that's what's in question,

Keep acting obscure, you'll keep on guessing,

Sometimes I feel like sin is a blessing,

They need the naked truth, so I'll keep undressing,

I wonder if she'll ever get the message,

You can make mistakes without making messes,

Bad relationships end in exes. _Oh._ I guess there's no more hugs and kisses,

I bet a lot of people didn't get it, sometimes less focus can help you see the image,

Who ever said the sky is the limit, must've never seen the stars,

How could you forget 'em?

Sea shells play the shore if you listen, but with my senses I can see what I'm listening," Deshay raps in a second verse.

Deshay and his band mate trade glances as they bond well with the rapping and singing. Meeting a mutual harmony. She repeats the chorus again. I don't know what I've missed, but they've come back together. Their music really works now.

There's a commotion. Girls screaming. I look to the side. Some older guys come up to where we're standing. Four older men all dressed in tuxedos holding instruments in cases. People shout at them. People try touching them and giving hand shakes. They head towards Menlo. It's the band Dog's Pajamas.

"Who's Menlo?" asks a suave looking man wearing a lean tuxedo.

Menlo takes his arms from around Ashley A and puts his hands out looking all surprised. "I am," he says, with his eyes widened.

Ashley A looks shocked at the older guy. "You're _Mayer Hawke_. _I love you,_ " she mouths.

"You're a _very_ determined, young cat," replies Mayer, from Dog's Pajamas, shaking Menlo's hand. "You more than convinced me that this dance meant a lot for you guys. So we're all aboard." Mayer looks at Ashley A and back at Menlo. "This your girlfriend?"

Menlo shakes his head.

Mayer smiles towards Ashley A. "Bag him. He's a good one," suggests Mayer, complimenting Menlo.

Ashley A looks at Menlo. She looks at him more differently.

Ashley T comes over to see me. I move away before she reaches me with Geoffrey. I ditch them both. I'm terrible. She looks around for me. Geoffrey slowly grasps I've departed. I move over to where Vince is. He's on the side by himself.

Dog's Pajamas and Spanish Fleek combine together to make a super band by the looks of it. They get up on stage. They talk amongst themselves.

"Having fun?" Vince asks me, standing on the side.

I lean the back of my head on the wall.

The music starts. It's a lot more livelier. It's way more professional with Dog's Pajamas. Mayer sings the chorus as the lights sway on to the stage again.

"No matter what your circumstance, just turn and watch the dance,

 _Watch the dance, watch the dance, dance,_

No movement puts you in a trance, just turn and watch the dance,

 _Watch the dance, watch the dance,_

Forget about that dull romance, just turn and watch the dance,

 _Watch the dance, watch the dance, dance,_

You may not get another chance, just turn and watch the dance,

Watch the dance, watch the dance, _"_ Mayer sings with his band giving backing vocals.

Everyone begins to dance now. Ashley B comes up to Vince and pulls him in. Vince gives me a look as Ashley B takes him on to the dance floor.

I stand awkward with the other boys who are too afraid to dance.

I see Ashley T looking around for me. I suck up all the shame. I make my way through and tap her on the shoulder. Ashley T turns around. Her eyes sparkle off her dress. I hold her hands. Her smile spreads wide. More people join into the dance. Gretchen is dancing with a boy from the tech kids. Everyone seems to have a partner.

I spin around. It's Geoffrey dancing on my side. I change partners. This is awkward. This isn't gonna end up well.

"What are you doing?" Ashley T asks, walking over to us.

"It's okay, you can take over, I guess," Geoffrey goes.

"I mean Mikey came with me, so—"

"But he said he'd come with me."

"What? Mikey, what's going on?"

The music dies down. Everyone is staring back at us three.

I'm stuck in between them. "I meant to tell you but I couldn't," I say.

Ashley T looks down. "I thought you liked me," she says, looking upset. "You said I was—I can't remember what, but, you called me beautiful. I thought. I should of known you we're, _you know."_ She looks at Geoffrey and I. "With the poem you gave Ashley A to give to me and you know—"

I shake my head. "I _do_ like you," I say, holding Ashley T's hands. "Like _a lot_. Like, I like-like you." I turn around at Geoffrey. "You said you didn't think I was your best friend, but that's not true. I'm sorry, I should of been like a friend, be honest and say _no_ straight away, even if I forgot at first." I turn back at Ashley T. "I'm supposed to be good at writing poetry, but look at me. I've used more likes than you do." Ashley T chuckles. "These likes I'm using are for like, for saying likes and not for similes. I should've—"

"You should have, what?" Ashley T asks.

Her face is right up, peering at mines. I can't speak. Nothing eloquent can come out. I feel my lips against hers. A few people gasp around us. I've been feeling nervous and nauseous through this whole ordeal. But now my body is calm as if I'm melting and merging with her. Her lips on mine can tell her better than all my stumbling words can.

 _"Mmm mm!" s_ omeone says out loud.

I stop kissing Ashley T.

I look around.

It's Troy.

"That was hot!" says Troy, smiling broadly in his jock varsity jacket. "Legit 11.28 seconds of lip on lip action."

TJ, now in a hooded sweatshirt, looks over at Troy. "As if you could _actually_ tell how _long_ that kiss was," TJ laughs.

" _TJ?_ " I whisper in awe.

"Nope," Gus says answering TJ, checking intently at his watch. "Troy's right. Right to the two decimal points and everything."

Spinelli glares at the three boys she's with. "You lot are such the epitome of lame," she moans. "It's astounding."

Ashley T walks away from me. "TJ!" she shouts out. "You're back!"

Everyone who has been silent up to this point run up to them. Everyone is ecstatic. All the students go up to TJ, talking to him, and asking him different things all at once. I go through the crowd. TJ, Gus, Spinelli and Troy are getting completely crowded out. I reach them. I hug three of them individually off the ground.

Now I hug TJ.

TJ pushes himself immediately off me.

I look at TJ. His face is straight and stone cold. Has TJ changed? Is he not as nice as he once was anymore?

TJ smiles at me. "Hey Mikey, check this out," he says.

TJ holds me off the ground just with his strength. No one has ever done _that_ before. TJ puts me back down.

Vince reaches us. "Whoa, man!" gasps Vince. "If you can pick Mikey up like that, you must be benching something like, 200 pounds or more."

"I dunno," TJ goes, "I don't really keep note of that."

Gretchen pushes her way to us. "Move over," she says. "I'm so glad you've made it here in one piece." She goes over and hugs TJ. "Those degenerates weren't too rough on you?"

"Not really," replies TJ. "Don't worry. And _you_ lot, don't get so gaga over me." TJ pauses and has a long look around the gym. "This place looks amazing, who did all this?"

I say, "It was Maddie, really."

Vince taps my arm. "Don't be so modest, man," says Vince. "It was all Mikey's idea. School was shut down yesterday but it was Mikey's idea to round us all up, hire a catering team and decorate this place in time for us to have the dance."

"Really?" TJ goes looking impressed. "Mikey, that's awesome." TJ turns to everyone. "It's good to see all of you again, but I gotta have a talk with the gang in private."

The crowd die down and move back to the dance floor.

The band play once more as the music goes back up.

Ashley T is ecstatic with the other Ashley's, even Ashley Q is with them too, as they all giggle together. Just like old times.

The party continues. TJ, Spinelli, Troy and Gus make their way down the hallway. Gretchen, Vince, Maddie and I follow them to tutor class. We head to it, but the door is locked. Spinelli picks the lock open with her hair pin.

We make our way inside.

TJ sits on the side of a table. "What's all this about the school getting shut down?" he asks.

Gretchen turns to him. "Tad White has been extorting money from principle Third," she explains.

"He's a heartless fiend," I say.

Spinelli looks like she's thinking. "He's that judge, right?" she asks.

Gretchen nods back at her. "All the CCTV's, the uniforms, the frequent B.O.E visits. With a little resistance and now it's closed. Can't you see? Tad White is abusing his power to make Thad high slowly turn into a—"

Gus adds, "Detention center," before she could finish.

There's a noise at the door. Everyone spins their heads around. Someone's twisting the door handle. It's Molly. She's dressed in a nice white dress. Her hair is full pink again.

TJ turns around at her. "Hey Molly," greets TJ. "I _wondered_ where you were. You okay?"

"TJ," goes Molly, "I am _so_ sorry."

"For what?"

"It's my fault you we're in juvie. I put the 'I did it!' signed TJ along the lockers that day. I understand if you hate me and don't wanna be friends anymore."

"Oh," TJ sighs. "Well, you weren't the only one."

Gretchen puts her hand up a little bit. "Can I interject?" she asks.

"No, I got it," TJ replies to Gretchen. He holds Molly's hands. "Molly, _look_ at me. You weren't the only one, okay? We all did bad stuff. I was guilty for doing all of the pranks except the one dangerous one. Vince joy ride-ed a car—"

"Joy ridden," Gretchen corrects.

"Yeah that," TJ goes. He turns head on with Molly again. "We _all_ made mistakes because James Stone manipulated us. He plotted something bad in our brains. We thought we were helping other people or even ourselves but he had an ulterior motive. We can't help that. What we _can_ do is stick together. I don't know about you, but there's only one person I want converting me into a _uni_ tard and watch My Fuzzy Unicorn with." He takes his dark grey sweatshirt hoody off. TJ's wearing his white T shirt. He rolls up his shirt and shows her a unicorn tattoo on his arm.

Molly hugs him.

"You're the best," she says. Molly caresses TJ's face. "And your face. Its sunken in. Chiseled but still chubby in the best way."

Spinelli cuts in saying, "All right, that's enough."

"But his arms, Spinelli. Have you seen them? He's like muscular and totally amazing looking now."

TJ laughs. "Molly, I get it."

She's all over him, feeling up his arms and his chest.

It's getting kinda awkward with everyone watching. I pull Molly away from TJ and put her next to Gus.

"Okay," TJ goes, in front of us all. "It's no good if we let James Stone get away all _olly olly oxen_ _free_ either. Now that I'm out, I can't just lay low and let them turn the school upside down."

TJ looks over at Maddie.

"What?" goes Maddie. "Why you looking at me?"

"Turn the school upside down," TJ words out. "You used to be upside down girl—"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sorry Teej," Spinelli goes. "I forgot." Spinelli punches Troy hard on his arm. " _We_ forgot to mention that Maddie lost her memory, but she's gaining it back, but backwards."

TJ looks back at Maddie. "Do you remember me?"

"Yeah," Maddie replies. "TJ Detweiler."

Troy stops rubbing his arm. "You remember _me_ by now, though?" Troy asks her.

"Nope," she says.

"Aw, come on!" Troy moans.

Gretchen clears her throat. "So, just to enlightened you, TJ," she starts. "Maddie lost some of her memory from staying upside down every single recess. Spinelli had a little crush on Mr Dude when she was influenced on Ritalin. Vince won the football golden cup. Principle Third changed the color scheme for the Hogs. That explains why all the lockers are red now and are no longer purple, and his statue got replaced. Bradley got admitted to our school, just to disappear after a jet engine fell from the blue and on to his bedroom. Geoffrey has now felt comfortable enough to cross dress like a girl. And, yep, I think that's it."

"High school," TJ mouths out. "You miss a little, you miss _a lot."_ He pauses and thinks. "Um, uh, wow. Well, now that I'm here, I'm not gonna play it safe and stay in hiding. I wanna tell Tad White that I'm here, so we're taking him down too. I have a plan. It's gonna need everyone's involvement. Not just us but everyone in the school. The school being cancelled indefinitely like this is the last crazy-straw. I'm not gonna have it. I've worked too hard to get in here and I'm not giving up the best friends I've ever had. This is a school by the teens and for the teens. They wanna shut down the entire school? Then let's shut down the entire state." He turns to Spinelli. "Spin, IM everyone in the dance that we need their help. The UN. The wall street kids. The hipsters. The emos. Everyone."

"Already on it, Teej," says Spinelli, texting wildly on her phone, quicker than I've seen her have before.

"Gretchen, contact the pale kids," TJ orders.

"Aw, do I have to?" goes Gretchen.

Troy smiles. "It's all right, Teej," Troy says, reaching for his phone in his pocket. "I can call you _Teej_ , right? It seems weird to, but everyone else seems to. I have the pale kids on my phone. All of them."

Maddie coughs, "Felicia too?"

"Shut up, Mad," Troy goes.

"All right" TJ chuckles. "I don't even know what that's supposda mean." He looks around. "Spinelli, could you break into Bradley's locker?"

"Huh?" goes Spinelli, as she stops typing. "I can pick locked doors but not lockers. Those are impossible."

Gus joins in saying, "Not really, I can show you." He looks apologetic at Molly.

Gretchen looks over. "How would you like me to contribute?" she asks.

"I need that _bad_ Gretchen back. So, I need you to bring all those scientific stuff you used on Halloween. That hacky sack cannon thing was sweet. You got any other projectiles?" TJ asks.

Gus goes, "Teej? I've got BB gun pellets in my locker."

"Hm, okay," TJ ponders. "Get them. So, we've got ammo. There's bikes and scooters lined up outside. Hey Gretch, _you thinking what I'm thinking?_ "

Gretchen stops to wonder something. " _You wouldn't,_ " she says at TJ.

TJ smiles back at her. "Hey ya Maddie. Are you prepared to take a few police officers out if I ask you to? I don't wanna strain you. Seeing as Spinelli and Gretch spelled out your condition."

"TJ, TJ," Maddie says, shaking her head. "You had me at 'Hey ya'."

"Tender-roni."

Everyone leaves the classroom. Troy, Vince and Maddie go one way. Gus and Spinelli run the other direction. Gretchen and Molly go somewhere else.

"What about _me,_ TJ?" I ask.

"Mikey, I almost forgot about you," says TJ. "You have the most important thing to do. I'm gonna need you to pull that fire alarm."

* * *

TJ's right next to me. He's actually here. And it's like no time has really passed even when we've all missed him so much.

In the hallway, TJ's trying to convince the Wall Street kids and the tech kids to work together, and to use weapons. Being a peaceful activist I might need some convincing _myself_.

"We're the trench coat clique, not the trench coat mafia," Fingers Malloy complains at TJ, standing in front of the lockers with his group around him.

"We have no choice," TJ protests, taking a sip from the water fountain before facing Malloy and Kumiko. "You can't let Tad White put Thaddeus T Third the fifth's money into something that's not worth investing in. _You_ more than anyone should understand that?"

Kumiko looks on. "You're right," she goes. She faces Malloy when she says, "I'll put the fact that you're a materialistic yuppie puppy to the side, if _you_ will?"

"Hey!" goes Fingers. "TJ, you hearing this?"

"Come on, guys," TJ says at them. "Mikey, tell them."

All the tech kids, Wall Street kids and TJ look back at me. I've tried to bring peace with Kumiko and Fingers before. That just made things worse. What change will it do if I do it _now_?

"If we work together, we get our school back," I say to them all. "It's as simple as that."

TJ looks back at them with his eyebrows raised.

Fingers sticks his hands out with distaste. Kumiko smiles as they both bitterly shake hands in a truce.

I pull the fire alarm. The siren sounds screams out. Everyone walks out casually outside to the front of the school. Some guys checking on their phones. Some girls checking their reflection in mirrors. TJ looks around at the students and chuckles. Any time a fire alarm goes off in a school usually, everybody panics and run around saying 'we're all gonna die', as we all forget to act calm when we're _supposed_ to follow each other in a single file.

"TJ?" I shout at him, as we all head outside of the school. "What if I call Mort Chalk? The news anchor! I got his number from the River City protest! I didn't think I'd ever need to use it! But if we need the attention—!"

"Yeah!" TJ says, stopping still, nodding heavier with more realization. "That's a _great_ idea! It will give us news coverage!"

Spinelli comes up to us with a cardboard box full of green laser pens.

TJ takes a pen out for himself and chucks me one. "Gus!" TJ says, taking the box from Spinelli and giving it to him. "I want you to hand one to each person!"

Gus does just that. Spinelli takes her phone from her orange woolly hat and goes outside without any push on what to do.

We all go outside.

Gretchen is on her knees working on an invention. TJ jogs up to her. I've never seen a weapon like this before. When I look closer I realize what it is, or rather, what it once was. It's a bike that's been made into a machine gun.

TJ high fives Gretchen and moves the gun on to the grass.

Kumiko and the tech kids look over at it.

"What is that?" asks a tech kid.

"A spinning wheel," TJ explains.

Kumiko curls her mouth looking impressed. "Not bad," she says, checking it over and inspecting it. "I can make it even better, though. We can get all the bikes, oh, we can also use the scooters and our hover boards and transform them into weapons too."

The tech kids go about with their fixing as they unveil tools that seem to be always on them.

Coming towards us are the Pale kids. They turn up with Vince and Troy amongst them. Felicia is annoying Troy by trying to hold his hand.

"Everyone!" TJ shouts, putting his arms out, as he quiets us all down.

TJ sets all the students out in formation. He involves the new kids who don't go to school here too. We stand surrounding TJ as he sets out his plan. Everyone's engaged. He pumps all of us up and gets us ready to go to war. He sets out the tougher kids, such as the jocks, to stay on the grass to use real weapons. The people prepared to use real weapons as well, are put in the middle section of the school to aim outside the windows. All the kids who are pacifists are moved to the roof as he tells Gus to give them all the green laser pens instead.

"TJ!" shouts someone from behind the crowd. The crowd departs slightly. It was a tech kid. "We're finished!"

The tech kids show the weaponry.

"Whoa!" TJ gasps looking at what they've made.

All the bikes, scooters and hover boards are our arsenal now. He picks up a scooter that's made into a crossbow.

"私はいくつかの花火が転がっ持っています _(I have some fireworks laying around,)_ " says a tech kid unzipping their luggage bag, showing it's full of firework rockets.

"I think these will do," TJ says, smiling.

All the bikes are now machine gun contraptions on the ground level. The jocks and the Wall Street kids have Gus' BB gun pellets as the ammo ready to go. The tech kids have their hover boards strapped with BB guns on it next to the others on the ground outside. The hipsters and the emos use the scooters-turned-crossbows, aiming them through the class windows. The emos have lighters to light the fireworks if needed be. The people who don't want to be involved with the violence are on the roof. The cheerleaders and the United Nerds.

We're ready. Thad High is our fort. Nothing can go through us now.

Firetrucks turn up on the road.

A fireman comes out with a swift slam of his car door. "What's—?" he asks looking at us. More firemen come out with him. "What's going on? Is there even an emergency?"

The B.O.E cop cars brake hard in front of the fire trucks. The officers come out all armored. They have BB guns, shields, tasers and batons on them. All of them aim at us. They slowly move towards us. But they're still outnumbered by us.

An officer brings out a microphone, "All right! Playtime is over! Put all your toy weapons down and step away from our property!"

We shout back. We hold our ground.

Troy, Spinelli, Vince, TJ, Maddie, Gus and I stand in front of the school with everyone else behind us. We stand in a strong line. Gretchen makes her way in between us. She parts through the middle of the gang. She's holding a bubbling test tube.

"Molly!" Gretchen shouts, calling her to her side. Molly jogs up next to her. "Pour some of your pixie dust in."

Molly puts her sugary sweets into the tube. The chemicals reacts more. It glows bright pink. It shines a big light. Gretchen's test tube is rocking from side to side in her hand. Her hair waves in the air. The shine reflects against her face. She looks mean and vicious like a mad scientist.

"Back up!" Gretchen threatens walking up to the B.O.E. "Back up! With the right amount of sugar and potassium chlorate I can blow up the whole southern side of Arkansas!"

This is off the cuff. No one saw this coming. We stand united behind her.

TJ nods his head at Gretchen. He moves forward as our leader. The B.O.E leader comes out too. The man who closed down our school. The guy who we're fighting against. Superintendent Tad White. TJ and Tad White stand head to head. Both of their armies ready to go behind each of them. The school cops lower their guns down slightly.

"Howdy White," TJ says, with a wide smile.

"I should of known a little juvie couldn't hold you," Tad White replies.

"It was fun," TJ says, casually stuffing his hands in his hoody's front pockets. "I guess being an _agent_ of the board wasn't good enough for you? Was it, _Superintendent?_ "

"People grow up, TJ. Something you and your little friends no nothing about," Tad sneers. He moves his head towards the rest of the students. "All of you have one more chance! Surrender now, and I'll promise, you won't get punished!" Tad waits. Nobody moves. Not even a murmur or someone looking unsure. "All right! I'm putting cases on all you children! _Especially_ the tech-y Japanese kids! We have a connected flight waiting for you to go home! I hope you all will like coach!"

Kumiko leans forward on her hover board. She takes over a jock's spinning wheel gun. She shoots a BB pellet through the wheel. Tad White dodges it. _Bang!_ Head shot. She hits a pellet into an officer. It hits his temple head on. The officer falls backwards on to the ground. He's out. Cold.

The B.O.E pull their guns back up at us.

Vince jerks his head. "Okay _that_ right there. _That's why_ we can't have nice things," moans Vince, shaking his head.

TJ gets serious, "Now!" he shouts.

All the teens from the roof point their green laser pens. Green dots shine on to the officer's bodies. The B.O.E put their hands up. As Gretchen has made all of the officers back off, they can't see we are only using laser pens.

Troy moves away from the gang and joins alongside TJ. "Feeling froggy, Pink Slime?" Troy asks Tad White.

Troy pats fists with TJ without looking as if they're telepathic with each other.

TJ doesn't move his eyes away from Tad White. "I wanted to play fair, White," TJ sighs, shaking his head at him. "But you got me messed up."

TJ puts his hand out behind himself to signal the _imaginary_ legion of wielded guns on the roof to cease fire. Tad White retreats back to the adult's side. It's like there is an _imaginary_ line in between us that he cannot cross. Gretchen puts her test tube out too. As she does, the pink light fades out in front of us. Now the only lights are the stars, the firetrucks sirens and the police blue flashing lights.

Maybe peace and non-violence isn't the way to go. If you want something you have to take it. I wasn't even scared when Gretchen threatened to blow us all up. We had something to die for. Pure poetry in motion.

There's a mysterious figure looking at us. He moves up to us from the adult's side. A hoody covering this person's face.

Gretchen fixes her glasses looking closer. "Bradley?" she ponders out loud.

He's face to face with the gang. It's someone we all know. From long ago and during the school year.

James Stone.

The 46 year old spy walks up to us. "I, uh, I wanna help," he says.

The gang and I look at each other confused.

* * *

 **This revolution will be televised.  
**

It's late into the night. Helicopters hover high in the sky. The 'Big Story News' vans are parked outside of the school.

TJ gets Menlo to go over to the opposition with his clipboard. Menlo hands over our combined list of demands to the officers.

There is the news anchor reporting live. "This is Mort Chalk _big story news,_ " he says into his mic in front of his cameraman filming. "We interrupt this program for a special report. A situation is unfolding at Thaddeus T Third high school. We're live with all the students of the school being engaged with a standoff against the board of education." Mort pauses as he holds his earpiece. "I'm hearing the students are negotiating with the police. They are demanding for three hundred comic books, one hundred and fifty Floppy burgers, a dozen anime DVDs and a, um. And a robotic girlfriend?" He looks over to his cameraman. "Uh, Ron? Does that sound right to you?"

His cameraman shrugs with his eyes focused recording.

The gang is looking on from behind Mort Chalk making funny faces. Gretchen, Vince and I walk away from it and head back to TJ.

I look over at them two. "Don't these demands sound a shred unnecessary?" I ask.

"On the contrary, this is exactly the enabler we need," Gretchen replies.

Vince looks a bit confused. "Who demanded the robot girlfriend?" he asks as TJ emerges in front of us.

TJ's squatted down. "Who'd ya think?" TJ mutters, feeling the dirt not looking back at us. "Frank Sedgewick and the other Pale kids."

TJ lifts his head up to look at James Stone. James Stone's been standing there waiting for us to react to him since he's come. TJ hasn't said anything yet to him nor has he left his side. He gets up on to his feet and faces James. We can sense the tension between them two. After all, the reason TJ went to juvie is because of him.

"All I want," TJ starts. "Is for us to get justice and for you to go back to jail. Come on. We can't trust you." TJ has a moment to think as he looks at James. All of us wait and give TJ his space. TJ looks over at Troy. "Hey Troy. You said, it's all about that offbeat strategy, right?"

" _Yeah,"_ Troy answers unsure.

"One thing I've learned from you, honest Abe," TJ says, looking up at the night sky as he fiddles his cap. "Is that the best way to destroy an enemy, is to make that enemy a friend." He looks back at James Stone. "Also, the horrible Señor Fusion movie reboot had a point."

Spinelli comes closer. "What are you saying, Teej?" she asks.

"We can't do this ourselves," he replies. "We need to be more grounded. We need a grown up. We need Thaddeus T Third the fifth."

Gus looks back. "But nobody's seen him for ages."

"What are you saying, Gus?" asks TJ. "We have a Thaddeus right here."

TJ spins his head at James Stone.

James Stone looks befuddled.

TJ heaves up some mucus. He spits it on to his hand. He lifts it out in front of James. "You Promise. You promise you're not with them?" TJ asks with his hand out, looking over at the police.

"Yeah, but—" James goes, repulsed at TJ's hand.

Spinelli cuts in. "Do it," she jeers. "If you're one of us. Do it."

James looks back at Spinelli. He looks at TJ's spit. He sighs and lets out a wad of spit on to his own hand. TJ and James Stone spit handshake. It's beautiful. The whole gang embraces him. Spinelli nods her head in approval. Vince pats James' shoulders. Troy ruffles James' head making his hoody fall off. Maddie and Molly give him quick hugs. He looks back at me looking dazed with a little smile. I smile back.

We make our way into school with him.

Gretchen leads all of us. She opens the door to the science lab for her AP classes. We guide James Stone on to a stool. TJ, Vince and Troy slowly emerge carrying something. I leave the classroom to help them. We come back holding the statue of Thaddeus from downstairs up to the first floor. We straighten up the life sized statue, so it's standing straight.

I think I know where they are going with this, but I'm not entirely sure.

TJ and Spinelli leave to go back to command our fort. It's such a big evolution from defending fort Tender from Lawson and his friends.

Gretchen prepares her work area on the table. She gathers her materials together. Molly and Maddie stand next to her as she explains to them what she's doing. I go to listen in but I notice James Stone's been left there on a stool. Troy and Vince have pulled up a stool talking amongst themselves. They give James little looks away from their phones then and there. They are pretty much ignoring him.

I give James a wave. He widens his eyes in response. The greet is awkward to say the least. Last time I saw him he slammed his door in my face.

Gretchen pours water and powder into her mixing bowl. She uses her fingers to swirl the lumps around in it.

"Boys!" Gretchen shouts out.

Vince and Troy don't notice.

She repeats herself.

"Yeah Gretch?" Vince replies.

"We need a ladder," Gretchen goes. "To reach Third's face so we can put the gloop on it."

Troy laughs looking at Vince's phone. "Yeah, in a minute," he replies.

"No," Gretchen goes. "We have ten minutes to get the alginate casting solution on Third's face before it dries."

Vince taps Troy's shoulder and leaves the classroom on a pursuit for a ladder with him.

I look back at James. "Why'd you do it?" I ask him.

James Stone looks away and sighs. "Look, I'm not about to pour my heart out to you or something. I was given the chance to leave the insane asylum I was locked in, get back at you kids, finally have a little money in my pocket for my acting chops, and bada bing bada boom, I got everything that I've ever wanted."

"Then what made you want to help us _now?_ " I ask him.

"I was bored," James replies _,_ he says quickly staring away from me. _  
_

"Remember when I said, I don't know what you're feeling right now, just like how you don't know how _I'm_ feeling," I say, as James remains looking uninterested. "Well, maybe I do. I acted too in something. At school. I played Santa, and, I was the last one in my group of friends to grow out of believing in him. I still thought he was real but I learned the hard way that he wasn't. Anyway, I quit acting in the play and I wanted to just give up. I learned that just because you can't see something with your eyes or hear it with your ears didn't mean it's not real. If I could believe in my heart Santa _was_ real then so does everything else he stands for like giving, selflessness and friendship. I realized I had to go back to acting in the school play because it's what I _had_ to do. I had to give everybody that belief back."

James Stone gives me a blank stare.

I move away. "Sorry for bothering you," I apologize.

"Stop," James says. "You're right. You're _really cheesy,_ but you're right. I was with you guys this year. I could see how much all of you love this place. I'm crazy, but it's not like Tad White or anyone's ever helped me with it. So I guess, if anyone's ever really cared enough for me to bring back belief and the importance of friendship, then, it's all of you."

James and I trade a genuine smile together.

Vince and Troy come back with a ladder. They set it up against the statue.

Gretchen climbs up the ladder and applies the gloop on the statue's face. The gloop tries to fall off but she pulls it back up. Maddie helps with her hoody getting messy.

"We have a limited time," Gretchen explains, guiding Maddie. "It's better to get the whole face covered even if it's a little uneven."

Molly is by the table cutting plaster strips. She dunks them in water and passes them to Maddie who lays them on the Third's gloopy messy face.

James proceeds to go on his phone. He explains he's gonna binge watch all of Thaddeus' speeches on Yourvids.

I leave the girls with what they're doing.

I go back downstairs.

Uh. That smell. Oh my god. Floppy burgers. A couple of Floppy burger workers are walking through the hallway handing in burgers. They're heading into the gym. There's live music in here once again. Everyone is being merry.

The front doors of the school are wide open. The weapons are still drawn outside. It seems people are taking turns on keeping down the fort. The teens enjoy themselves with food, and using soda from the vending machines for drinks. The soda machines have been tampered with and they're available for free with a simple push. No money is needed. By the side, some people are reading through comic books. They're several wheel barrels full of them.

On the table is a food platter. Just like we wanted. One hundred and fifty Floppy burgers.

My mouth is watering uncontrollably. I take one. I flick through the burger. It's perfect. Maybe I'll take another one. And another one. I _am_ hungry. I'm already taking ten burgers into my arms. Oh food. How I've missed thee. I shouldn't kid myself. Food is life. I gorge until I feel that familiar comfort hit my stomach again.

People start taking what they want from the burger buffet.

The four Pale kids come through to the gym. "Why does everybody get all of _their_ demands, yet we are still minus a robotic girlfriend?" complains Frank.

Spinelli is leaning by the door. "Wow!" she says, as she goes up to them. "I don't know why you four mooses can't just talk to a normal girl."

The cheerleaders are gathered round. "Isn't it obvious?" says one of the girls.

Troy goes up to the conversation too. "So, you guys just want one girlfriend?" he asks.

Rodney, from the Pale kids, adjust his glasses. "Yeah," he replies, as the other Pale kids laugh. "We're not greedy. One anatomically correct interactive girlfriend is sufficient. Steve's done his research. The robot girlfriend we want is programmed to match human facial expressions, body and mouth movements. She can even offer services based on cloud technology and can position herself independently."

Troy looks on. "But you all just want _one,_ " Troy goes.

"Yeah," says all the Pale kids in unison.

Vince is intrigued too. "One girlfriend to share with all four of you?" Vince asks.

"Yep."

The cheerleaders all go, "Gross!" at the same time.

Troy laughs out loud. "So you dudes share everything, even have _sloppy seconds_ , _tacky_ thirds and even _filthy_ fourths."

People eventually disperse to do different things. Some enjoy music. Others are watching some anime or reading the library of comic books. We spend our time continuously changing positions to go back outside to protect the school.

Time passes.

I get a message from my Whaddown group chat with just the gang. Not the three hundred or so kids that are in the school right now, but the group of nine. It's a message to go to the art class.

I head to it.

The gang's already in here.

Molly is breaking open a big caste like a gigantic peanut egg. She slowly reveals the mask they've made. It's a perfect silicone face of Thaddeus.

"Whoa!" Spinelli goes.

Vince looks shocked too. "Did I ever fail to mention you girls rock?" he asks.

The three girls stand proud looking at themselves. Maddie and Gretchen thank Vince before going downstairs. This is impossible. Gretchen must of used some specialized method or chemicals to make the process go faster.

The gang leave Molly here.

Molly puts her apron over her dress and places the mask on James. There's adhesive already on his face. She stretches her fingers. Taking her paint out on her pallet, she starts to work her magic. Her tongue's stuck out as she focuses. Humming as she blends Third's skin tone on to our actor. She begins attaching little hairs for his mustache. Trading glances with her picture of Thad to help her make it look accurate.

I go back outside as I let Molly continue with her model.

I'm with my friends again. Something has been going on since I've been gone. Spinelli and Tad White are exchanging heated words. TJ stands near Spinelli, trying to stop her from doing something silly. The cameraman is recording all of this.

Tad makes a sly look at her. "Must feel bad with your father being in the C.I.A and everything?" he goes.

"What?" Spinelli says.

TJ puts his hand on her shoulder. "Don't listen to him," warns TJ.

"Yeah," I say, moving in closer. "He's trying to get you mad."

Tad is loving how he's getting Spinelli more incensed. "Aw, didn't your daddy tell you?" asks Tad, looking at the camera and then back at her. "Oh. _Oh no._ He's been a secret agent for Twenty odd years and he never told you? _Oh no._ And now _he's_ watching this on TV and knows _now_ that _you_ know. Aw, now you're just gonna have to live with this moment forever of me revealing something you were so desperate of _him_ telling you. Your daddy was too chicken to tell you the truth that Rome was where he was assigned to have your family be under my witness protection programme. Never-mind, why would he tell you? You're just a baby. So, Ashley, hows that hitting for you?"

"I don't know," Spinelli replies, clenching her fists and then releasing them again. "Coming from someone who failed to be a secret agent himself, it's hitting as hard as when your _punching_ , or when you're _bonking_ your woman."

"Oooow!" everyone goes from all around the school.

Every single person shares a scream and shout. All the teens, the news people, the firemen, even the B.O.E.

Tad swears to himself. He forfeits with wide eyes and walks away with his hands on his waist.

Vince slightly looks at Spinelli in disbelief and stares around at everyone laughing. " _Gawd daaamn!_ " Vince bangs out, hugging Spinelli tight.

Spinelli has a wide smile on her face as she's smothered into Vince's chest.

More time passes.

TJ and I walk back to the front of the school. Geoffrey's by himself looking content. He's changed. He's back looking like his old self. He's wearing his normal clothes again.

"Geoffrey!" I say, calling him. "You've changed back into boys clothes."

"Dressing up as a girl is tiring," Geoffrey goes, feeling his own hair again.

"Hmm," TJ ponders. "I wonder how James is getting along dressing up _himself._ "

The gang gather up together and make our way to the auditorium. We step down in between the slopped seats to the front stage. Molly is putting the final touches on James. We can't see him as we climb on stage. The back of his head is facing us.

Molly stops.

TJ looks on. "Well?" he asks.

Molly sighs putting on her final touches. "I don't wanna be really full of myself, but I think I'm the next big thing, you guys. Like, _art_ wise."

"Let's see," goes TJ.

She spins James' chair round. It's Thaddeus T Third the fifth. It's uncanny.

Maddie covers her mouth and gasps, "oh my friggin' freakin' god!"

Gus rubs his glasses with his shirt over and over and says, "it's perfect!"

Vince mouth hangs open before spurting out, "that's what I'm talking about!"

Spinelli rubs both of her eyebrows and asks, "art can do _this?_ "

TJ goes up to him. "How you doing, sir?"

"I'm fine," James replies. We stare back at him. "Oh. Hows this?" He clears his throat. "Uh, okay. Excuse me young people, I'm the rich and rightful principle of this high school that you are attending. Lend me your ears and your mind. I know fundamental excellence. Everyday, I pretend my mustache doesn't itch."

"Okay," Spinelli sighs. "We get it, you're the bomb, don't kill it."

Some emos come on to the stage carrying something. "Molly, I'm giving you props," says one of them.

"Thanks, I _do_ try," Molly replies, with a little twirl of her dress.

"No, I'm _giving you props,_ " the emo emphasizes, handing over a stitched up fat suit.

They strap the fat suit on to James. Not huge. Not small either. The right size of our principle.

The four Ashley's join us too. Ashley Q seems to be hanging out with them now. For the time being anyway. They have Third's real clothes on them.

"Oh my god!" Ashley A goes. "You can _totally_ do make-up tutorials on your Yourvidz channel now, Molly. This is like—"

"Retardedly good?" Spinelli asks her.

"Exactly," Ashley A replies. She flattens out Third's real clothes and tests it on him. "Girls. Lets accessorize."

* * *

It's the early hours of the morning. We're back outside with everyone refreshed. A couple officers yawn, drinking coffees in filter cups. Some parents are watching behind the police barriers. Mom and my two dad's are there. They are separated and nowhere close to each other, but all three of them wave back at me.

We're waiting for James Stone to come out as principle Third.

Spinelli nudges TJ. "When is he coming out?" she asks.

"These things take time, Spin," TJ replies.

Gus runs out in front of us. "Guys! Guys! He's coming!" goes Gus.

We turn to face the front of the school.

"No," Gus goes, making us turn around. "The Ashley's are using an expensive Hummer plug-in Hybrid for his entrance."

Vince goes, "entrance?"

A long stretched limousine hummer, like Gus described, drives up to the school. An official personal aide goes over to the passenger side. He opens the door. A leg steps out. It's our Thaddeus T Third the fifth coming out. My idea of it being another person has flown right out the window. He gets closer up to everyone.

"What is the meaning of this?" he cries.

Tad white stands frozen still. The real Thaddeus T Third could always hold everyone's attention in a room.

Mort Chalk, puts his coffee away, going back on his mic, being recorded live on TV. "A big turn of events has taken place here at Thad High. Mr Thad High himself, Thaddeus T Third the fifth, has come from being missing, last seen in his private jet, to now becoming the centerpiece of this standoff."

"TJ Detweiler, shouldn't you be incarceration?" James goes, lowering his head in TJ's eye level. Everyone is kinda shocked at how good his impression is. He winks at TJ and turns back the other way. "Whose in charge here?"

A B.O.E officer steps up and says, "Mr Third, sir, um."

"Are you pointing guns at my students?" James asks.

Tad White answers saying, "It's the children that are in the wrong. They're using firearms against the board."

"You're blaming children?" James shouts. "The sole purpose of the board is to put the students best interests in mind! If I were to give you a piece of _my mind_ I wouldn't let you work in this town again!"

James walks into the school.

The PA system switches on. "Can Tad White make his way to the principles office. I repeat. Can Tad White make his way to the principles office, thank you," Menlo goes.

Everyone goes, "Oooh!"

All of us are treating Tad White like he's a student getting in trouble. Tad disappears into the school.

Vince sighs. "We should of asked James to give us more demands," Vince says, "like when Prickly thought he was six and we got _him_ to pretend to be the principal."

Spinelli ignores Vince looking back at the school. "How are we supposed to know what they're even saying?"

"So tell me—" James Stone goes from his office.

His voice is being amplified from the PA system thanks to Menlo leaving it on. Spinelli and Vince high five each other.

"Why shouldn't I ban you from my school?" James continues.

"Look, Mr Third," Tad White goes. "You have to understand, there was a line in the contract which states that if any student _does_ get out of line, I have free will to dictate the school."

"I remember no such thing."

"I assure you it's true."

"Look here, Superintendent," James says with authority, sounding perfectly like Third. "This school is called _Thaddeus T Third the fifth_ high school, not _Tad White_ high school. I know what you did. You repeated what the previous Superintendent did like a forefather. You thought you could release a crazy individual from an institute to barrage my students. Have him do your dirty work. And trade it off as the children behaving badly. Well, you're sadly mistaken. I will not hesitate to push my busy schedule to the side in order to have you dropped from the board _tonight_. Get the board out of here. Our contract is hereby terminated."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," replies Tad White, sounding overly confident.

"Huh? Um. Come again? You confess to what you did, though, right?" says James.

"Oh yes. Everything you said is true. I released an insane prisoner. I had Theodore Detweiler sentenced unfairly. And I shut down this school. And I'd do it all again, and you know why?"

"Um. No."

"Because I hate you. I despise you. Rich people like you who think that just because they have an allegiance with the higher ups they can automatically dictate everything from the government to the educational system. Well, I work hard to get where I am. And that contract stays with me, so as long as you want to sue me for your negligence of not reading in between the lines of our agreed contract, the only way you're getting it back is from my _cold dead hands."_

There's a long pause. Tad White returns outside. He walks with a pompous smug. We all stare back at him. The students, the news, the B.O.E, the firemen and all the parents. He slowly gathers that we've heard him confess. He turns and notices the PA system sound off. All the B.O.E face their guns at Tad White.

They're gonna arrest him. Tad stares back at the B.O.E. They turn their guns back at us, the students.

"What?" TJ goes. "Point it at him! He's guilty!"

"You stupid boy," Tad says. "They don't listen to you. They work for _me_. I've had enough of this parade. Arrest them all."

James Stone comes back out throttling Tad by his collar. "You! I'll get you for this!"

"James?" Tad asks, looking him deep in the eyes.

"Huh?" James replies.

"Hold on here," says Tad. "You—You're." He takes the mask off his face. James' face is revealed. "Well, _I'll_ be damned. You're on _their_ side."

TJ pulls them away from each other. "You're nothing but tricking guys and deceiving people," TJ slams. "All of the board of ed are corrupt!"

"Grow up," Tad White says, fixing his suit. "This is the real world. All of you kids are in big trouble. Sure, you're not the real Thaddeus, but without money, you have no power."

"Wait!" goes someone from the Wall Street kids. "TJ, look up your stock app on Thad high Incorporated."

TJ looks back. He digs in his jeans pocket and checks his phone. He laughs to himself.

"What is it you find so amusing?" Tad asks.

"He didn't forget us," TJ says, flicking through his phone. "Thaddeus T Third invested all his money in our stocks. We have his money. He put all his shares in our name."

"You can't be trusted with that sort of money to put it where it needs to be," Tad says.

"We have a class president. _She_ can."

CJ Rottweiler, the class president, waves from behind us.

"You can't run the school by yourselves," argues Tad.

"We have teachers," says TJ.

"You don't have a principle."

TJ thinks to himself. He slowly lifts his head back up and says, "Me."

"What are you talking about?" asks Tad.

"Me," TJ repeats. "I can be the principle."

"You?" Tad White laughs. "A child? Have all those sodas killed off your brain cells?"

"I've been a principle before. At Third Street I was principle for a day. Look it up."

"All right. I'll tell you what. I'll allow you to be principle if I have a say with what happens here."

Spinelli shouts out, "No dice, deuce!"

"Watch it!" Tad shouts.

"You said it yourself," TJ says. "With Third as principle and him signing the contract _you_ have full control. But by ripping James' mask off just now you've proved he isn't really him. I will be principle—"

"For one day."

"Huh?" everyone says at the same time.

"That's right," Tad says, circling his stare around at all the students surrounding him. "You want a juvenile delinquent as your leader. Fine." He focuses back on TJ. "The first day of the new school year, _you'll_ be a king for a day. But on that second day, I choose who your new principle will be. I already know who it is."

"I don't care who the heck it is," says TJ, with all of us around him. "We'll be ready."

Tad White and TJ shake hands.

"You win today, Theodore," Tad White goes, letting go of their hand shake. "As for me, right now, I resign as Superintendent. I don't need this. I was enjoying trying to make Arkansas a brighter safer place but all of you children are so ungrateful. And as for you TJ, you're nothing but a— _what you kids say,_ a fun sponge. Enjoy your school."

Tad White walks away from us. TJ stands still with us. The news people disperse. The firemen drive away. The B.O.E reverse away from the school.

Gus turns to TJ. "Is it over?" he asks.

"Yeah Gus," TJ replies, "it's over." He looks over at everyone behind us. "Thanks, you guys! For having my back!"

Everyone is congratulating each other. I hug everyone I can. Troy joins me as we head to the entrance of the school. Where the hipsters and the emos are coming downstairs from aiming their crossbow scooters.

Troy taps Deshay. "Aye Deshay! You're band killed it tonight" he says, complimenting him. "You're one hell of a blipster."

"What does _that_ mean?" Deshay asks, as he dismantles his crossbow back into a scooter.

"Blipster, it's a black hipster," Troy explains, "cause you're _black_ and a _hipster_. Blipster."

"Blipster," Deshay replies, nodding, "I like that."

Everyone's ignoring the emos, so I go over to thank them.

"You all did well too," I tell them.

"No we didn't," says an emo. "We were just on standby half the time."

Drake adds, "Even if we did make a difference, we hate ourselves too much to even care."

"You shouldn't," I say. "You should love yourselves."

The emos look at each other.

Troy and Gus come my way. Gretchen, Vince and the rest stand outside. All nine of the gang stand together. We all have a final look as Tad White gets back in his car. His chauffeur drives him away.

Spinelli nudges TJ and says, "kind of a hollow victory, huh, Teej?"

* * *

 **Schools out,** in exactly thirty seconds. **  
**

TJ, Spinelli, Troy and Molly are back in tutor for the last day. Gus too. All of us our back in our own clothes. Everyone in school is trying to be in our class, with all the doors open for the tutor classes. Vince, Gretchen and Geoffrey have seats next to our desks instead of in their tutor class. Mr Dude's class is over crowded. We're embraced in the beauty of our undeniable friendship.

Mr Dude looks over at TJ. "I just wanna say thanks. Not just me, all of the faculty appreciate what you, what _all_ of you guys did. You saved our jobs."

"No doubt, Dude," TJ smiles back from his seat at him.

"It was just so empowering to see it all unfold like it did, and just to be _that teacher_ who was the one to see you everyday made me feel so proud and—"

Troy coughs out loud with a grunt. "Dude?" Troy asks.

"Yes Troy?" Mr Dude asks.

"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but—" Troy goes, pointing at the clock behind him.

There's ten seconds till summer vacation.

Mr Dude turns around at the clock. "Oh, it's _that_ time," he says. "Go crazy."

Everyone starts the countdown together. We all go. "Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

We all cheer out loud together. Raising our arms up in the air. Throwing papers in the air from our desks. The cheerleaders throwing their pom poms in the air too.

I get up from my desk from the side of the room. Spinelli jumps on her desk. She holds me from behind and does a piggy back ride on me. I say goodbye to Mr Dude and shake his hand. Molly comes up and hugs me. She then speeds up to Mr Dude and hugs him next. Spinelli gets off from me. It's a big celebration in the hallway. Some tech kids zooming across on their hover boards. The teachers standing on the side saying goodbyes. People running out on to the front of school.

Geoffrey is on the side talking to someone. "Hey Geoffrey," I say, going up to him. "You coming with us?"

"Bud?" Geoffrey goes, looking away from a boy he's talking to and at me. "Would ya mind, I'm—"

Geoffrey is talking to a boy that he's hitting it off with by the lockers.

"Oh," I say. "We'll speak later."

I leave Geoffrey alone. I join the rushing bodies that are leaving through the front. People are hugging each other. Parting away from their friends. With all the "goodbyes" and "see you next year" being exchanged. I can see Ashley T in a hug with a girl she's saying goodbye to.

I walk up to her.

"Hey," I say to her.

"Hey," Ashley T says back.

"So, _I'll_ come over to your house this summer some time?" I ask, trying not to scratch my scruffy hair.

"I'd _like_ that, like, you know. _Like."_

I don't say anything.

"I'm joking," Ashley T adds, as she smiles letting her grin radiate with the sun.

"Once again I can't fathom the cuteness and jest you seem to showcase before me," I sigh back at her. "But alas, it's the last time I'll be able to see it through the hallways until sophomore year."

Ashley T tilts her head at me. "I can literally listen to you just talk to me like that all day, and this time I'm _not_ joking."

Troy comes out of the school with Vince as they both go passed me. "This summer's gonna be so sweet!" Troy bellows.

Ashley T and I make our parting goodbyes with a hug. She lets go. I watch as Ashley T goes back with the two other Ashley's.

Vince looks back at Troy. "Yeah, but really?" goes Vince. "The Comic Con is always in San Diego! But now it's gonna just _so happen_ switch to Arkansas? Get real!"

The gang quickly find themselves together.

Gus points at the steps of the school. "Here's Teej!" he announces.

TJ comes out with Spinelli. "I'm telling you, Spin," TJ goes, deep in a debate with her. "I knew James was gonna turn around for us, it's called having a little ingenuity. Gut instinct."

"Fine," Spinelli says, "I'm not arguing that. You're trying to say you knew who he was all along, but none of us knew."

Vince turns to TJ. "You ready to go, man?" he asks.

TJ nods back at Vince and carries on his argument with Spinelli saying, "But it's just like Bookham and McVice."

"Oh, _here we go,"_ Spinelli moans. _  
_

The nine of us finally move away from the school and from all the scenes of the people saying their farewells. There's a snivel of sad sounds next to me. It's Molly. She's crying.

"Are you all right?" I ask her.

"Yeah," replies Molly, with a quick snort as she dries away her tears. "It's just, I'm gonna miss this school."

Troy comforts her. "Remember you got _us_ now, to annoy you all summer," he says to her. "Don't miss school like that. It makes you look really nerdy and unlikable."

"Shut up!" Gretchen says at him. She turns to her. "Molly, you can miss school if you want to."

Maddie smiles wide. "Trust _you_ to say something like that," she giggles.

Troy stops in his tracks. "You know what?" he goes, as he continues to comfort Molly on her arm. "I've got something I wanna ask you, Molly. So, I'll see you guys later."

Troy and Molly stay back near the big scenes outside the school. The seven of us keep walking together down the sidewalk. Gus looks back at Troy and Molly together. He lets out a sigh and carries on walking. Vince senses Gus' grief and pats him on the back. I guess Gus never got to be with Molly anywhere close to romantically this year. Even with all of his lusting.

Spinelli carries on her talk with TJ. "Hypothetically, and I'm being hypothetical here," she goes. "If this year was a TV show like Bookham and McVice, and if anyone was watching us in an outside view—"

Maddie adds, "like reading our fan fiction."

"Sure, whatever," Spinelli groans back. She turns back at TJ. "But if someone _was_ reading us they would have known who James Stone was _all along_ from the beginning like an episode in Bookham and McVice. It would be a boring book to read."

TJ huffs out in frustration. "It's the journey though, that's the _whole_ point," he emphasizes.

TJ and Spinelli keep on arguing. Gretchen is talking with Maddie now. Vince is by my side and I'm next to Gus. We walk in a straight line on the sidewalk. The sun falling down on us. We're ready to welcome the summer with open arms.

We're all going to walk to the Townsedge mall together, most likely.

Probably stop by the Quick-O Mart together first too.

**[PLAY SONG "Gorillaz – Empire Ants" AT THIS POINT]**

 **Recess High School Years**

 **Freshman Year: The retribution of James Stone**

A Fan fic

 _by Ruff Desperado aka King James_

Starred

TJ aka The shabby scoundrel

Spinelli aka Madame fist

Vince aka The golden child

Gus aka The scaredy cat

Gretchen aka The clever clogs

Mikey aka The big softy

Maddie aka Sultress with the loose lips

All the original Recess characters were created by Paul Germain and Joe Ansolabehere and produced by Walt Disney Television Animation™

* * *

 **Post-credits scene**  


Tad White's eyes shoot open as he's taken away from his sordid slumber. He looks directly at the ceiling. He has to wake up early just to make it through. Getting on to his feet, he moves over to the curtains, stretching them wide open. Taking a moment to admire his fine estate. His neat driveway that ravels in a spiral. Two expensive _him and her_ cars. His gates that shut him and his wife away from the low life's of Arkansas. Mrs White rolls over to her side with her sleeping mask still strapped across her eyes. Their gigantic king sized bed afford them to never accidentally touch each other.

"You can sleep in, Taddy," Mrs White says, still in her sleeping position.

Tad ignores her and continues to the bedroom's door knob. Ready to get out of the room and to start his whole routine.

His wife chuckles. "I have energy," she continues, with eyes closed. "You can prove that Ashley Spinelli wrong if you like."

Tad screws his eyes and leaves. He goes to the bathroom. To his distaste he has a little bit of stubble around his jawline. _How wreckless,_ he thinks. He uses his Tushioki hands-free auto-cleaning toilet. Newer technology. He doesn't have to wipe his own ass. The toilet flushes itself. He moves back to the mirror and shaves his beard back to restore some order. He walks into his walk-in shower that turns itself on to a perfectly warm temperature. He applies his imported conditioner from Cambridge. His luxurious soap from Egypt.

Tad walks back into his bedroom. His wife has just risen from their bed. She sits on her side. The room is silent. Tad quietly puts his shirt and pants on.

"What did _I_ do to receive the silent treatment?" Mrs White asks.

Tad White ignores her. He looks at his wardrobe mirror as he dresses himself into his suit.

Mrs White stares at him. "You know those children got away with what they did strictly because of their age?" she goes, crossing her legs on the bed. "If those scoundrels were in any other part of the world they would have suffered severe consequences. Maybe even the death penalty. It's not your fault American children are treated like little angels and little—"

"Stop!" Tad White slams, as he pauses tying his bow-tie. "Let the past be the past. Okay?"

He forces out a smile as he looks back at the mirror at her. He leaves the room yet again. He makes his way halfway down the stairs. Pausing in the middle, he reverses back to his room. He plants a kiss on to Mrs White's forehead. For all the people in the world Mrs White is probably the only person who truly believes in him. Nothing forced, and without agreeing to everything he says. They share a glint of a smile together. The doorbell rings.

Tad's attention gets grasped. He moves back to his opened curtains to spy out whose trying to disturb him this morning. A boy stands by his gates. Is it some child here to patronize him? The boy, who looks high school age, is perched on a bike with a newspaper in hand and more in his duffle bag. The boy presses the door bell again.

"Who is it?" Mrs White asks Tad.

"The paper boy," Tad replies.

It's strange. What on heavens is a paper boy doing, coming to his estate? Tad even has a notice by the wall of his house stressing 'No salesman.' It doesn't directly apply to paperboys, but it's implied. He goes downstairs to inspect it. But. You know what? Tad feels different today. He has a jive in his step. Going upstairs yet again, he fetches his little man purse. Mrs White looks oddly at him. She wonders what has gotten into him.

Tad leaves through his front door. He walks towards the paper boy. He unlocks the gates. The paper boy notices him and just hands the newspaper to him through the bars. Tad has a better look at the boy. The coast is clear. It's no child from Thad High, so there's no chance that this is a foolish attempt of a prank to get at him. Tad takes the morning paper and the boy walks away with his bike.

"Hey, young man," Tad says, walking back to the paperboy. He fiddles in his purse and hands him over two nickels. "Here you go."

"No thanks," the paperboy replies, moving Tad's hand away.

"Okay," Tad says, reaching in his purse for more and handing out four dollar coins and forcing it into the boy's hands. "Take it."

The paperboy looks at the it. He hands it back.

Tad stands there perplexed. He just wants to help the poor boy. Tad thinks of himself like something of a father figure. He's actually in a good mood besides everything that's happened. Tad empties his whole purse of change into the boy's hand. Almost Thirty dollars worth. The boy tries to give it back but Tad won't let him. The paperboy, adamant of not wanting any tip, kneels down and puts the change by Tad's feet.

"What are you doing?" Tad asks, beginning to lose his patience. "I said take it!"

"Money isn't everything," he goes, he smiles as he lifts his leg over his bike and cycles away.

The boy misses all the other houses and cycles back up the road.

That was peculiar.

 _He should be wearing a helmet,_ Tad thinks.

Tad leaves his gates open and returns back inside. He looks at his paper. At least he has some information to digest now.

Time passes as Tad reads his paper. Nothing particular strikes him as important. That's been his attitude to Arkansas since he moved there. His sole intention of reigning down his version of justice on how the educational system should be governed.

Mrs White, now ready to go to work, covers her husband's eyes.

"What are you doing?" Tad asks, sitting on seat still.

She uncovers his eyes. He opens them. There's a wrapped up present in-front of him. They never wrap up presents for each other, and he's not celebrating anything. He picks it up and inspects it further. It's a item, almost book sized, with Christmas wrapping all over it. The tag on it shows, 'To TJ, from Mom and Dad'.

"Go on," Mrs White goes. "Open it."

He opens TJ's present to reveal a video game.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks.

"Play it, presumably," Mrs White responds.

He looks at the strange thing. He looks at it from back to front.

He screws his eyes at the fine print. "It says this game is only compatible to a ULBX 180," he says. "What is a ULBX 180?"

"Surprise," Mrs White says, nodding her head on the kitchen sill on the side.

Tad notices, for the first time, the box for this corresponding console. He thought it was perhaps a new appliance for the kitchen but in fact it's an application to play this vile thing.

Mrs White swings her purse over her arm. "You have a lot of _time_ on your hands now," she says.

"I'm getting a _job_ right now," says Tad. "Starting today."

"Mhmm," she hums, looking very unconvinced. "That bow tie's not fooling anyone. I gotta dash, dear." She leaves through the hallway. "Don't pretend you're not curious!"

Mrs White leaves through the door.

Tad White walks away from the table. He stands looking at his garden. He stays away from the video game. Going back to the newspaper, he flicks through the jobs listed for a while. There's no job being advertised that matches his caliber. He looks back at the game. He picks it up. 'Final Boss Vendetta 5' is the title of the game. The picture of the art shows a collage. Helicopters, cars, explosions, guns and half naked women. It's rated 18 for adults.

 _It's typical for parents such as Detweiler's to show such disregard,_ he thinks.

Tad opens it and picks at the CD inside it. This is foreign to him. He goes to the living room. He sets up the Ultra-box 180 as he reads through the installation manual. Stretching the wires. Plugging in an extension cord. The screen flashes ULBX. The game boots up.

He plays the game for several minutes. On the odd occasion he tries all his might not to enjoy it. Matter fact, the distance from the two joysticks to the four buttons seems miles away from each other. How is someone supposed to hold the controller and press the buttons at the same time? _There's buttons on the back of the controller too?_ He thinks.

He strolls around with his role playing character. Randomly stealing cars and mowing down pedestrians. He buys a gun. Aiming it, he shoots someone. Blood splattering everywhere. A one star rating pops up on the top corner of the screen. He soon realizes he has the option to just open fire on any person in this game.

 _This is the sort of violence that damages children's minds,_ Tad thinks.

Tad backtracks. He attempts to follow the objectives that the game is suggesting. This is strange to him. There's actually a story behind all of this anarchy. He's been playing for almost an hour. He's getting used to all the controls. He's dying less times and the main character in the game seems to be an anti-hero with little redeemable qualities, but it somehow works. Not to mention the look of the game is beautiful. It looks hyper realistic. Everything about it has character and personality. Where has this kind of thing been all his life?

It's almost as if this video game is art.

The TV screen turns off. All the electricity shuts off. Tad sits there momentarily helpless. _Maybe it's just a power surge and it can fix itself,_ Tad thinks. The TV switches back on. Tad sighs in relief. He picks up his Ultra-box controller again. He's just getting into his game.

The TV flashes on in bright colors. An odd figure appears on the screen. It's someone wearing an odd Guy Fawkes mask with monkey features. The long face with a mustache and goatee, only it's furry with ape like ears above.

The weird figure tilts it's head. "I would like to speak with you, Tad White," that person says, staring directly at him.

The man's voice is deep and menacing. No voice of any person Tad has encountered before.

"Excuse me?" Tad replies, looking left and right. "What is this? Who am I talking to?"

"I am part of Pseudonymous," the figure responds, as the screen distorts in technicolor and flashing cartoonish glitches. "A new notorious hacking organization, and your actions in court have been bought to our attention."

Tad White stands up. "What is this?" he asks. "Is this some sort of weak attempt of a prank?"

Tad reaches for his TV remote to change what he's watching. It's the same every channel. He moves behind the television and unplugs the cord. It doesn't work. The man on screen remains there, staring at him. The mask is fixed with a self righteous smirk.

"You have disrespected and abused one of our own and now you will pay for it," the man in the mask says. "It will be in your best interest to show me respect. I will need you to follow my instructions, do you understand?"

"I'm not gonna listen to you," Tad replies.

"You will suffer the consequences for your actions. Your manipulation and mind games on the innocent will be tolerated no longer. You thought hiding behind a wall of authority as Superintendent would protect you. It was all fun and games when you sentenced students to time. Well, Tad White, now it's your time, and my game has only begun."

Tad White's car alarm goes off. The alarm bellows out. Tad rushes outside of his house. He turns it off with his keys. His car is in it's usual space. It's behind his private gates. Next to his wife's. Completely separated from potential intruders.

He returns back inside. The man on the screen is still there. He couldn't have done this, could he?

"We are Pseudonymous. We are Copious. We do not Forgive. We do not Forget. Expect us! Tell me, Clive Wickham—"

Tad stands huffing, trying to get his breath back. "How do you know my real—?" Tad asks.

"Do you ever feel like your being watched while your in 23 Cloudy Boulevard?"

"How do you know where I live?" Tad asks, lifting his head around the four corners of his living room, searching for any cameras. "How are you doing this?"

The man flicks off from the screen as it changes into animation. His voice still talks over as he describes everything Tad White did this morning. Waking up early. Getting a newspaper from a paperboy. How many sugars he used for his tea. Taking a Christmas present that belongs to TJ Detweiler.

"We are the ones who are governed by no law. We are the ones who do not beg for justice to take its course. We are the voice of the silent and we are the eyes of the blind. We are Pseudonymous. We know that you have committed these actions, if you would like to feel safe within your own home, listen to my instructions and follow to them to a T, do you understand?"

"No!" Tad says. "I understand, but no. I'm not gonna succumb to some downright malicious punk!"

"You've spied on student's private information, so it's only fair if the same happens to you," the man continues. The screen contorts into more flashing images. "Tad White. Your real name is Clive Wickham. You have worked as a private eye for the B.O.E for many years. You didn't want people to think that _that_ was your real name. You chose 'Tad' because you're a secret agent of the board, but when in reality you've always subconsciously wanted to be like Thaddeus."

"That's a lie!" Tad shouts.

"You're nicknamed "the cleaner," and in doing so, the 'White' in your name was something to signify as clean and lawful. But Clive, that hasn't been true this year has it?"

Tad remains silent.

"We've forwarded to the F.B.I. all the evidence to expose your illegal sentencing, and it's merely one click away. But, this can all be avoided if you do as I say. Firstly, do not refer to me as punk, you will refer to me as sir, do you understand?"

"Yes," Tad replies with distaste.

"Yes what?"

"Yes...sir."

"Secondly, I want you to apologize to each and every parent of the child you wrongfully imprisoned."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"You've been busy," the voice says, cheerily. "On the newspaper you received this morning, it has been made uniquely and specially for you. Every number of the parent of the teenager you victimized is on the page for the stock market. We know you don't read those. We thought we might have to remind you."

Tad races back to his kitchen. He picks his newspaper up and flicks it to the NASDAQ. The man's right. Just like he said. In alphabetical order, hundreds of phone numbers with the teenagers on trial are on there. Tad goes back in the living room, paper in hand.

"The teenagers you manipulate are the teenagers you depend on," the man says. "We fix your computers. We wait on you for your meals. We post you your newspapers. We know your internet search history. We know where your food has been. We know where you live. We know more about you than you know about yourself. Do not mess with us."

 _Teenagers? As in 'we' teenagers?_ Tad thinks. It's worse than Tad feared. It's not a man trying to hurt, blackmail or even steal his identity. It's a child.

He scours through all the names and numbers of the parents. His finger stops on Mr & Mrs Detweiler. Theodore is still fresh on his mind. He dials the corresponding number and waits.

A gentle voice responds. "Hello, Janet Detweiler speaking, how may I help you?" she asks.

Tad sighs on the receiver.

"Hello, who is this?" she asks again.

"This is Clive—I mean, Tad White," he replies. "I wish to, um." He pauses and looks at the masked teenager on the screen. "Apologize."

"Becky get off the—I have to use the phone now," she says. Her voice comes back more clearer and closer again. "Sorry, for what, may I ask?"

Tad White explains that he was the Superintendent of the B.O.E. His involvement in the stand off outside of the high school a week ago. How he was the judge in court that fateful day when TJ was sentenced four years in a juvenile detention center.

"It's been bought to my attention," Tad starts. He readjusts the phone on his ear. "I mean, it's a truth that's really yet to be acknowledged that, it was really me."

"What?" she asks.

"Okay, the fact of the matter is, your son was innocent."

"Oh, really? That's wonderful. But, didn't you put my son in juvie anyway?"

"Yes, that's right," Tad replies. "He did nothing wrong of the sought. It was entirely me. Everything was my doing. The jury rightfully found him not guilty, but I waved my hand and made it not so. I manipulated and cheated. It was all me."

"I see," she says. She takes a long pause. Tad wonders if she's still on the line, but doesn't say anything. "I've got nothing else to say to you."

"So, do you take my apology?" Tad asks.

The phone makes a droning dial tone.

"Hello? Hello? Hello?" Tad asks over and over. "She hung up on me." He looks back on the newspaper. There's hundreds of numbers to go "I can't." Tad stares back to the person on his screen. "There's too many parents to call."

"It's okay," the person on screen replies. "We'll wait."

"No, I'm not doing this," Tad says. "This is nonsense. I'm not subjecting myself to this, and be debased in my own house."

"So be it."

There's a long moment of silence.

The feint sound of sirens emerge. It gets louder. The screeching brake of cars and trucks are outside. There's a sound of a forced entry. His private gate gets caved in. It's a S.W.A.T team on his private estate, which no longer seems so private. There's knocking on his door.

Tad panics. "Wait!" Tad cries out to the figure on his screen. "Hold on! Please! I'll give you money. Just name your price. I'll pay you. How much do you want?"

"That's where you're wrong, Tad White," the mysterious, so-called teenager on screen says. "This is Pseudonymous. We don't give a whomp about money."

 _You?_ Tad thinks.

The S.W.A.T team barge into Tad's house.

"Go! Go! Go!" the S.W.A.T officer shouts.

Tad stands frozen.

"Put the phone down!" another officer yells, pointing a gun at Tad. "Put your hands up!"

Several officers swarm him.

"Get on the ground now! I said, get on the ground now!"

Tad is pushed to his knees and on to his stomach. Real guns are pointed at the back of his head. Tad stretches his neck at the screen again to have a final glimpse. It seems to all make sense now.

The TV turns off.

* * *

The mysterious figure adorning the monkey mask sits on a stool in-front of a green screen. He's in an internet cafe back in town. Gretchen puts down her cue cards, TJ having written him everything to say with his marker pen. Troy is still recording behind the camera. Kumiko puts a rest to the effects she's been adding, with Maddie, during the hacking broadcast. Other members of the gang watch on. All the computers in the cafe monitors are recording Tad White's home. One screen shows Tad White being handcuffed and taken away. The person wearing the Guy Fawkes monkey mask takes it off. It's Mikey.

"How'd I do?" Mikey asks, ruffling his hair from looking flat.

Vince leans on the side of a table. "Ten outta ten, man," he says.

Molly fiddles with her earphones and says, "That was sorta frightening."

Mikey's singing voice was perfect for this type of operation. It's several octaves deeper than what he speaks with day to day. A voice changer would have been too simple enough. It would have been too robotic, and lack that emotional crux that would make a deep voiced speaker sound so domineering.

Troy has his eye focused behind the camera. "Uh-huh," says Troy. He gives Mikey a thumbs up. "I think I almost crapped my pants over here."

"Yeah," TJ says, laying down on his back. He pops the cap back on to his marker. "I think me and Mr White have finally squashed our beef."

The gang have a neat set up in the cafe. All the computers are connected together. Spinelli had called her cousin Nick to infiltrate inside Tad's estate, and give him a morning newspaper. TJ talked his way with the owner to reserve the entire shop for two days. Under Gretchen's calculations that would have been the sufficient amount of time it would take for Tad White to apologize to every single person he unlawfully prosecuted.

Spinelli blows out a sigh from the side. "Couldn't we at least hear him out about paying us?" she asks.

Gretchen looks over at her. "No, Spinelli," she says, "blackmail and extortion wouldn't bode well for our organization."

Spinelli remains unmoved as she fiddles with her phone. "What doesn't _bode well_ is my lack of green," replies Spinelli. She helps gather up some loose wires. "Fun ain't free."

Gus turns to her and says, "You could get a job like me, Spin."

Spinelli scrunches up her face, and after a pause rolls her eyes.

Everyone from the gang log their computers off. Mikey takes down the green screen and hands it to Gus who rolls it up. Gretchen rips up the cue cards and bins them. Kumiko gathers up her wires and her laptop. TJ is the last to leave. He turns the sign on the store from closed to open.

They head to the mall together. Gus hands over the folded green screen to Kumiko as she departs until it's the usual nine again. Molly takes the monkey mask off of Mikey and puts it on herself. Her pink hair flows from either side of it.

Spinelli turns to Gus. He's still walking with them to her surprise. "You not going to that terror dome you call work, then?" Spinelli asks him.

"No," Gus replies, as he shakes his head. "I booked a whole day off to do this."

Troy puts an arm around TJ. "Teej, dude," Troy says, feeling more comfortable to call him that now. "Did you really expect White to go and apologize to every parent?"

"Dunno," TJ replies. "More like hoping."

Spinelli smiles. "No disrespect to them," she starts. "But _good thing_. I wasn't planning to settle down for an all-day-Sirebucks-sess and hearing Tad White say sorry over and over."

Gus looks over at TJ. "Funny how he chose _you_ out of all those other teens to apologize to, huh?" Gus asks.

"Yeah," TJ replies, as he pushes through the doors of the mall. "I guess so."

"Out of all those to pick, _you_ were the only one. I mean, you have to have been one of his favorites to torture."

"Um," TJ says, as they continue to walk and talk. "Yeah."

"Anyone else see how he opened up your present with no cinch?" asks Gus. The gang doesn't reply. "He didn't hesitate. Gosh. That must've made you feel really crummy. Your mom and dad go out and buy it for you just for him to play it with no care in the world. And then there's the—aah!"

Troy trips up Gus mid sentence, making him fall over on his face.

Molly and Mikey help Gus back up again.

"T!" Vince goes, holding back a grin. "Not cool."

Gretchen on the other hand is much more stern. "You could have just politely asked him to stop talking about it."

Gus nods back at Mikey and says he's, "all right". With that, Gretchen parts away to the Peach electronic store. TJ and Vince have had enough and go towards the QuarterChasers arcade. Maddie and Mikey head to the food court. Gus and Molly head up the moving escalator towards a children's toy store.

The gang are all but used to Troy's shenanigans by now.

Spinelli turns to Troy and huffs out loud. "You'll never change, will you Troy?"

"Come on," says Troy, putting his arms out. " _Someone_ had to shut him up."

Spinelli storms away further into the mall as she straightens out parts of her hair.

"Spinelli!" Troy goes. He jogs after her. "I was only joking. Hey! I was just—Hey!"


	15. Index Page 1

**Index Page 1**

Hey,

If you've actually read my Recess Freshman year story, _even if you read one sentence and thought 'I hate this!'_ , then thank you! Believe it or not I didn't expect it to be this long. I was aiming for around 50 k words which turned to 100 k which turned to 150k. I don't even know how it went even longer than that.

So why am I writing this? Well, there was a reason I wrote this fan fic. Not only for the nostalgic vibe but I wanted to prove that fan fics can be taken seriously for beginner writers like myself. I legit analyzed each character's motives, speech patterns, likes and dislikes _you name it_ , by watching the show over and over till I got it just right. To make it seem like the show never ended.

 **Index of words, names and phrases for the world of Recess:**

To make the recess universe sound more authentic I used new and already existing terminology.

Ajimbo = An addictive tile card game

Billy Blaisedell = Movie actor equivalent of Adam Sandler

Blueberry = Blackberry

"Bonk" = Sex

Boston Pagans = Boston Celtics basketball team

Chitter = Twitter

Claudio Puccini = Dolce & Gabbana

Clipgoss = Snapchat

Cyborg phone = Android phone

"Deffo" = Definitely

Dog's Pajamas = An alternative swing /indie pop band

Friendsite = Facebook

Galileo = Siri

Gold Star Twee Pop = World star hip hop

Hi-top Palace = Footlocker

iCell = iPhone

Jamàcamon = Pokémon

Jamal's = Jordan sneakers

"Late" = Later/ Bye

Magic: The conjuring = Magic: The gathering

My Fuzzy Unicorn = My Little Pony

Pseudonymous = Anonymous

Quick-O mart = A 7/11 store

Selfiepod = Instagram

Señor Fusion = Superhero equivalent to Batman/ Superman

Sirenbucks = Starbucks

Ultra-Box 180 = Xbox 360

Winger Dingers = Twinkies

Yourvidz = Youtube

Zeus sneakers = Nike sneakers with wings

Zoot = Vine

 **Easter Eggs**

There are probably over 50 Easter Eggs in this story alone. (Easter Eggs which basically means the fun secrets that reference the show) Now, I'm not gonna list all of them but just my favorite TOP FIVE...

 **Number 1**  
In Recess episode 'Prickly is leaving' the gang pretended to be middle school kids. TJ was a rebel, Gretchen was a goth, Vince was on a ginseng diet to make weight for the sport's team, Mikey broke out in zits regretting about not going to the soc Hop dance, Gus had father issues and Spinelli had a crush on Prickly. What Prickly did to impress the superintendent was tell TJ to "Back off!", Gretchen to "Cheer up!", Vince to "Eat something!", Mikey to "Cut back on the fried foods!", Gus to "Mow the lawn!" and Spinelli to "Get a hamster!"

What I did in my story was have the gang actually unintentionally take Prickly's advice. So, TJ backed off a little bit from rebelling in juvie, Gretchen stopped being an Emo kid and became happy again, Vince's mom mentions he's on a ginseng diet and Vince binges on sweets at Kelso's, Mikey loses his spots as he lost his appetite of food and he went to the soc hop dance with Geoffrey and Ashley T instead of staying home, Gus mows his family's lawn to convince his dad to give him a license and when Spinelli got a crush on Mr Dude, she bought a hamster.

 **Number 2  
** Jamàcamon is Pokémon, which the Pale kids mentioned briefly in 'Lord of the nerds' episode. Molly has a Jamàcamon tamaogochi around her neck all the time.

 **Number 3  
** I made sure that the setting of the story matched the show. So you'll find Keslo's, Floppy burger, dead man's dirt pile etc. The Quik-O mart which Spinelli mentions in 'Weekend at Muriel's' episode. The headless statue was in the episode 'The Barnaby Boys' is now in the towns square when TJ was riding his bike to Gretchen's middle school.

 **Number 4  
** When Vince is talking to his teammates, Herk talks about how he's Irish. Vince mentions how gross Shillelagh sundaes are. In the episode 'Kurst the not so bad' the whole gang couldn't stomach it, only Mikey could eat it.

 **Number 5  
** Most fan fics have already done just about every angle of Spinelli's parents being secret agents because of the ending of the 'Parents night' episode. But what I'm doing is trying to do it in a more realist fresher angle.

 **Parodies**

-In Maddie's chapter she's breaking the fourth wall just like 'Deadpool' as well as the chapter parodying the movie 'Suckerpunch'

-In Vince's second chapter it's a parody of the show 'It's always sunny in Philadelphia'

-In Gretchen's second chapter it's a parody of the film 'Donnie Darko'

-In Gus' second chapter it's a parody of 'Dumb and Dumber'

So,

If you've read all of this then congrats, you're almost as lame and as nerdy as I am.

And that's it, really...

I fail at byes so,

Yeah...


	16. Black Sheep

**Recess High school years**

 **Summer Bummer: Black Sheep  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Episode 1

Troy POV

* * *

 **"I'm joking, Spinelli,"** I say.

I'm on pursuit of Shrimpy. I wedge in between other people shopping in flocks in the mall. I just follow wherever the orange woolly hat goes. She storms into a small Moda shop. The fashion clothing store. This store is a smaller version of the mega-store that's located outside of the Townsedge mall, but it still possesses all of the same sophisticated feminine features. I could say the same about Spinelli.

I walk inside. Some women look and meet my eyes. I say hello to a manikin. A bald white woman wearing clothes that are on display. I pound my fist with her open palm. _Slam!_ Her arm falls off.

"Oh, crap!" I holler, clambering to stop the arm from hitting the ground and failing. I pick it up and try to reattach her limb. "Hmm, well, actually." I stare directly at her two white dents where her eyes would be. "Finder's keepers, right?"

Every mistake is also an opportunity.

I push my arm into my chest, and fit the manikin's arm into the arm hole. Now I have a long arm pocking out of my varsity jacket. No one can mess with me now.

I stroll up to Spinelli. She notices me. With slams of the clothing rails, she pushes through the bright blouses. She pretends I'm not staring at her. She spots my new arm. She looks at it taking her attention away from the clothes, then her eyes trail back to my eyes. She smirks a little bit. Almost as if she's been disciplining herself not to laugh with me. She sulks back to what she was doing.

She's so undeniably cute when she's mad.

"You don't expect me to believe you're actually buying something here," I say, getting up to her side.

"That shows how much you know about me, don't it?" she replies, flicking through the clothes some more.

I put my new arm on my chin in contemplation. I squint at her. "Well, you've made yourself abundantly clear then," I say, acting like I'm giving up. "I can't help you."

"Exactly," she replies, almost gasping in surprise. "You should scoot off."

"Your mom knows more about this stuff anyway, so I'll just," I start, dropping the arm out of my jacket.

I take my phone out.

"What are you doing?" she asks, as she goes up to me hesitantly. "You haven't got my mom's number."

I flick through my instant messages. A cheerleader sent me a message last night. Allah knows what her name is. She's just labelled in my contacts as 'Perky redhead.' I haven't responded to her yet. Now seems like the right time. I type down a response to her.

Spinelli looks more panicky. "Why would you have my mom's number?" she asks, as she pauses, thinking in deeply. "Have you?"

I continue to type down on my iCell. "If I want a female's number, I get it, okay?" I reply, with a super serious tone. "Ha! She's so sweet. You know, compared to my mom for instance. Why she call you pookie?"

"No way," says Spinelli.

"Done," I reply, as I stop typing. I turn to Spinelli. "I could tell her _not_ to. Hows should I put it?"

"Okay, tell her, I'm," Spinelli starts as she walks right up to me. She eyes-out that I'm really texting some random girl. "Nice try."

She walks away from me. A young lady wants to spray Spinelli free perfume, but she walks passed her. I follow Spinelli. Wait. That's TJ's sister Becky spraying the free perfume samples to the customers.

"Becky," I greet.

"Um, do I know you?" Becky replies, lowering her spray bottle.

"Dunno," I reply, shrugging. "I don't know what's going on in your brain."

"I'm not wearing a name tag or anything, so how do you know my name?"

"I know your TJ's hot sister, so—"

"Oh right, you're friends—you think I'm hot?" she asks, letting down her guard. "How old are you? Hold on. If you know T-Jerk you must go to his school as well. _Ugh!_ I'm just gonna pretend I didn't just try to flirt with one of my brother's friends."

"I saw you around about this time last year and I thought you were something really special," I say.

"Thanks, that's sweet," she replies.

"I hope one day we could get to know each other better."

"Me too."

"Besides work, do you spray or squirt?"

Becky squeezes the perfume in my face in retaliation.

I cough holding my face. "The stinging in the eyes must mean it's working," I say, squinting my eyes at her. "Thanks for that."

I leave the store through the other side. Wiping my face clear of those smelling chemicals, I scour my eyes for Spinelli. What if I can't find her in this mall? This mall isn't even that big. In American standards, anyway. _A-ha!_ Spinelli's in the food court, resting her arm on the counter, looking at the menu hanging up.

Spinelli sighs when she sees me coming up next to her.

"Good call," I say, mimicking what she's doing. "Swatting Superintendents does build up an appetite." I move my head around at the chairs and tables. Maddie and Mikey are there sitting down. "Hey, you two! Can we join you?"

Mikey looks around until he finds where my voice came from. "Yes! Of course!" the Mike-anator replies, waving his arm out.

I leave the counter and sit alongside next to them. "Come!" I shout out to Spinelli. "Join us!"

Spinelli walks up to our table. She keeps walking until she's off again.

Maddie pauses from eating her donut. "Ooh you smell nice," says Maddie, with a slight sniff in my direction.

I don't say anything.

"You not getting on the good side of Spin, or something?" Maddie asks.

I rest my hand on my head. "Spin is what she's doing to my head," I reply.

Mikey turns to me. "Let her vent," says Mikey. "Give her room to grow and maybe your friendship with her will blossom too."

"I hunt chicks in the mall as a recreational sport," I reply, "I think I can handle a little Ashley Spinelli."

I leave the table and search around the mall. I'm not seeing her anywhere. If I was a fifteen year old tomboy, with an attitude, all alone in the mall, where would I go? The toy store. That doesn't really seem like the logical answer but that's where Gus and Molly disappeared to.

I glide up the escalator. Looking through the toy store, there's Gus and Molly playing with NERF guns and green goo. Molly is still wearing the Pseudonymous monkey mask. Going inside, I see Shrimpy. Spinelli's fiddling with a Beanie McChimp key ring.

Molly holds Gus' hands. "See Gus," she starts, throwing the green goo until it sticks to the wall. "If somebody could combine the two, green goo with a NERF gun, then we're talking ultra mega."

I walk over to them three.

Spinelli lifts her head up and notices me. "No," she says.

"What?" I try to reply seriously.

"I don't want you or anyone else picking on my best friends," she says, standing next to Gus, putting her arm around him. "I'm not gonna have it."

Molly flicks her monkey mask to reveal her face. "What are you talking about?" asks Molly.

"Yeah, Spin," Gus says. "Troy caught me slipping. I'll be ready next time. I don't think I even bond better than anyone else in our group of friends now, besides him and—"

"Molly!" Molly says at the time Gus says it. "Jinx!"

Spinelli turns to Gus. "Really Gus?" Spinelli asks. "He doesn't bully you?"

Gus doesn't respond. He holds in his breath slightly, like he really wants to say something, but he doesn't.

"I knew it," says Spinelli. She turns to me. "I knew you were no—"

I look away from Spinelli and at Gus and say, "Gustov Griswald, Gustov Griswald, Gustov Griswald."

"Thanks, Troy," Gus exhales out in excitement. "I would of had to stick my whole head in a garbage pail. Those kids unwritten codes of honor have serious repercussions. Where was I? Oh yeah." He turns around at Spinelli. "No, he doesn't." He walks up to me and moves me to the side of the store to talk in private. He whispers to me, " _I think I'm getting somewhere with Molly."_

 _"Nice, dude, nice,"_ I reply. _  
_

"If I ever make a move I'll just do what I did with Spinelli," he continues, seizing from whispering anymore, knowing the two girls are far enough away from us.

"Huh?" I ask.

"Even though it was my first kiss, it was the best one I ever had, so, I'll just do _that_ again."

My eyes are locked on Spinelli. Her lips look like strawberry licorice. I can only imagine what kissing her must be like. I might self implode if I did. Maybe. Then her eyes—

"Troy? Troy?" Gus asks over and over.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply. "Seize the prey, Gustov. Don't give her an inch."

Spinelli comes over to us. I ruffle Gus' hair as he leaves us two alone.

"Let's just chill for a second," I say. I give Spinelli a little pout. "Please?"

Spinelli frowns stabbing a finger at me. "No funny business," she says.

I physically cross my heart over my shirt.

We escalate back down the mall. We sit down on a bench as we watch people go by in different directions for a while.

Spinelli flicks her hair and says, "so."

"So," I reply.

Spinelli smiles. My insides feel hollow. This is what being nervous must be like. I'm no wimp. I gotta snap out of this. But then again, I kind of like this feeling. I don't wanna snap out of it just yet.

Spinelli pauses and asks, "what's the haps for this afternoon?"

"I'm gonna be picking up my little clones from class," I reply. Spinelli looks lost. "Then my sister from kid's club."

"Oh, right," she says. "Now I'm getting it. They really look up to you, don't they?"

"Uh-huh."

"Troy. They're _big_ brother."

"Like you with Joey."

"No, just, no," Spinelli says, shaking her head.

"Seeing that we're friends now, I wanna ask you something," I start. "What would you say if we—?"

Spinelli's eyes widen. "I really need to see Gretch about something," she says, getting up on to her feet. "Gotta go."

I watch her as she leaves. She goes towards the Peach electronic store. I leave and go the opposite direction.

I enter QuarterChasers. It's pretty lively in here because it's almost the middle of the summer. Almost every game is being occupied. Vince and TJ are already there in the middle of the arcade playing ice hockey.

Vince is still playing but knows I'm there. "Are you all ready-set-go for Friday?" asks Vince. "Well, just in case everything pulls through anyway?"

"I don't know if I can," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. "I might need to sit this one out."

"You're kidding me," TJ says, pushing the puck down the table. "Lupin Larry Rogan is gonna get us three VIP passes. He invented Señor Fusion. If _he_ can't get us in, _no one can_."

Vince says, "it's all we've been ever talking about."

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime happening," TJ adds.

"Yeah," Vince says, slamming the hockey puck through TJ's little gaped hole. "You gotsta come, T. Just make yourself available, man."

I sigh and don't say anything. I don't wanna let them down.

Vince and TJ carry on playing, with Vince whooping TJ's ass on the tally. I walk around the arcade with my hands in my pockets. Gretchen's here. What the—? Isn't Spinelli trying to find her and then talk to her. Oh well, she'll come around. That's what cellphones are for.

Gretchen is going to town on the claw game. She's taking all the toys from it.

Gretchen, just like Vince, senses me without having to look. "Claw machine's aren't as implausible as people think they are," she says. "It's all about precision and probability. Don't even play if the toys are stuffed too tight. That's where they get you. If I use my very limited amount of time given to maneuver the claw where I want it to be, and everything is in position before hand, then any toy is for the taking."

"There you go again," I say. "Running that smart mouth of yours."

"Mm-hmm," Gretchen replies, focusing on the claw. "That's right."

I like Gretchen. I mean, I'm just pleasantly surprised she didn't take any offense to that.

"Funny how pretty much anything without context can sound bad as hell, right?" I say.

"Like all those words you conjure up with those different meanings?" she replies.

"No. Those are always good. I guess, _I'm_ just the bad that's saying 'em."

The only reason I even change words is because of Lana.

Like Gretchen explained, she scoops up another toy out with ease. She has the same amount of stuffed toys in a posh slumber party. She takes out two Beanie McChimp dolls. I ask Gretchen if I can have them. She agrees, so I hold on to both of them. This one's for my sister. This one's for Spinelli. If she wants it.

I move away from the claw machine. As I do, there's people that work in the arcade taking notice of what Gretchen's been doing. They're looking worried. I can tell from their expressions that they're trying to prove a way that Gretchen's cheating, so that they can tell her to stop. She's not though.

The rest of the gang turn up at the arcade.

Gus and Molly play a 3-D fighting game. 'Killing with Kindness X.' The game seems to be a really sweet and innocent one. Where the fighters have rainbow-electric-telepathic powers and blowing love heart bombs. It's still as violent as any other game. Gus loses with his player getting sliced in half with a candy cane. _Beautality!_ flashes on the screen as Molly wins.

Maddie and Mikey are playing a racing game as they use their steering wheels. I walk up to them.

Maddie takes her eyes off the screen. "Whose that for?" Maddie asks, staring at my two stuffed toys.

"My sister," I reply, "she goes crazy for this little guy."

"And the other one?"

"Huh?"

"The other one, whose the other one for?" she asks. I pause. I can't think. Mikey and Maddie exchange looks. "Oh, I see."

"What?" I ask. "What are you seeing?"

"Nothing," Maddie says, "I think it's sweet though."

Mikey gives me a warm look.

The whole gang surrounds us.

"Whatever you two are thinking," I say, "you're wrong.

Mikey looks over at me as he abandons his game. "Maddie wasn't suggesting anything," says Mikey. "Maddie doesn't spread rumors around any—"

"Look," I say, as everyone gets around us. Gretchen's carrying all the toys from the claw machine. Molly's wearing the mask again. Gus' adjusting his glasses. Vince is standing next to Spinelli whose wondering what's going on. "I don't love Spinelli." Everyone looks at each other and then back at me again. "What? You want me to prove it?"

I walk up to Spinelli. She looks at me. I stare back at her. I get that hollow empty anxious feeling again.

TJ comes over. "What's going—?" he starts.

I push my lips on to TJ's. He pushes me back but I pull him in. Both my eyes are still open. I'm all over his mouth. The worst kiss of my career.

"See?" I say, letting go of TJ. "I told you I don't love Spinelli." Everyone stands stunned. TJ bends over wiping his mouth. I turn to Vince. "Come on V, these zombies aren't gonna decapitate themselves."

* * *

I'm in the martial arts dojo. Blue mats are laid out. A Kung Fu wooden dummy head is on the side. There's a long mirror where the students can watch themselves make the right poses. I watch on as the kids of all ages chase each other around. My Mini Me's are around here somewhere.

"Thomas-San," Master Sensei calls. He adjusts his black belt, in a way one would try to keep their pants from falling down. "Your 8 rules for dating any American girl." He makes an okay with his fingers. "Nailed it."

I nod back. It's no big deal. I wonder if he knows referring to me as "san" is a Japanese karate term rather than a Chinese martial art one. I'm sure he's just talking crap like he always does.

"How'd you make it?" Sensei asks, nudging my side for me to make a solid answer this time.

"Trial and error," I reply.

"You see, I can't take that," says Sensei. "I can't take the rejection, man. I say I work with kids and I'd expect the women to just eat that right up. When I see girls I like being mistreated by their boyfriends, I just—"

"Wish you can beat them up."

"No, I wish I can _be_ them," he finishes. "Cause that's what women really want. Someone to tell them what their daddies won't. Look at you. You have this whole bad boy boy-band image going on for you. How am I supposed to replicate that?"

"You don't get to talk to the grown ups a lot, do you?"

Krew, my youngest bro, runs up to me. "Thomas!" Krew shouts. "Thomas! I broke a plank of wood with my head today!"

"Good job, Krew," I reply.

I'm so proud of them. They've come a long way since we've moved from California to Arkansas. Krew has the green belt, Isaiah with the blue and Mohammad with the purple. The pee wee power rangers.

I gather up my brothers and leave the dojo.

We walk through the park as they replicate the fighting moves they've learned on unsuspecting pigeons.

Moey slaps me on the leg. "Why don't girls go down when you kick them in the balls?" asks Moey.

I laugh out loud. "Why you kicking girls down there for?" I ask back.

Moey, little-man Mohammad, is further ahead in belts than his brothers, but that doesn't make him any maturer.

"Our sparring in class," Moey explains. "Stacy just went 'ow' and that's it."

"Oh, girls don't feel pain when they get angry," I say. "You didn't know that? They're impervious to it."

Isaiah on my other side asks me, "What does impervious mean?"

The other two look like they wanna know too.

"It means girls are really strong," I say, "so, what does that mean, you lot?"

Krew sighs. "Don't fight girls," he says, sounding gutted.

"That's right," I lecture.

Moey looks up at me. "And don't kick girls in the balls," says Moey.

"Exactly," I reply, as I ruffle Moey's head.

We move up to the Kid Social Club. Entering inside, we move aside for the kids who need more space for their wheelchairs and crutches. I enter a classroom. Lana's with her club counselor playing WobbleWord. A board is on the table as they align new words across it. Lana concentrates on her collection of letters. Looking at the tally the counselor has written, Lana is winning by a large margin. She places the letters S, H, I, M, M, Y in front of the word conga.

The counselor puts his hand on where she put it. "Shimmy is enough," he says. "It can't be one whole word."

"Uh, yeah it is," I say, defending Lana. "It's the sound unicorns make when they walk."

"Tom-Tom!" Lana says, putting her arms out for me.

"Hey trouble," I reply, picking Lana up from her chair.

The boys mess with Lana's wheelchair. Moey sits down on it while Krew pushes him around trying to hit Isaiah.

The counselor greets me. I nod and say hello back. _Oh damn!_ What the hell is that smell?

"Ugh!" I squeal, covering my nose, still holding Lana. "Who died in here?"

The counselor sighs. "Billy's snake," he says.

Billy Forsyth, Lana's friend, is petting the dead snake 'Hubert.' Gus' dead snake that I sold him a couple weeks ago.

The counselor continues. "I don't know at what point in time his pet died," he says, his hands on his waist. "We've tried to take it off of him, but he just screams at us if we do."

"That's, uh, tragic," I say, not meeting Billy or the counselors' eyes.

I call the boys to go and get out of here.

We walk through the park again. Krew, Isaiah and Moey are still messing around with Lana's chair.

"All right," I say, my arms getting tired. "Mini Me's, that's enough. Let Lana sit now."

Lana shakes her head at me. "Lan wand dun steps, (I want to walk,)" Lana says.

"No, lets go home first," I reply.

"Lan wand dun norm like cranes dema bars, (I want to be normal like all the other kids in the park,)" she goes.

"I don't think I can let you," I say, taking the wheelchair out for her.

"Pleats? (Please?)" she asks, pushing the wheelchair away.

I help balance Lana on to her feet on the gravel. Lana holds on to Isaiah and Krew as she stands up. She walks around the park. She goes faster chasing after a duck.

"Hey careful!" I shout, jogging up to her.

She asks an old man on the bench for some bread. With a piece of bread in hand she feeds the ducks. I hold her hand as we walk around the park. Krew is holding her by the other side. She asks me if she can pay for some ice cream herself. I give her change as she _shimmycongas_ to the ice cream truck. She walks back herself. Right now you couldn't confuse Lana from any other kid in the park. As soon as she reaches me she pulls me down to my level. She kisses me on the cheek.

Before I know it, Lana's having fun frolicking around. Jogging after kites. Pulling at the strings. The people don't seem to mind, as sometimes kids can get away with anything. She's playing with her three brothers as I stand on the side making sure nothing happens to her. I'm forgetting she even has a condition.

"Thomas!" Isaiah calls.

"Yeah?" I ask, walking up to him.

My brothers look at me with wide eyes. Lana isn't moving. I run up to her.

"Lana, are you okay?" I ask her.

She's hyperventilating. I pick her up. I tell my brothers to move the wheelchair with me. We make our way back home in double time. I tell Lana to breath slower, and to keep looking at me.

We're home. Mom comes out as she notices the commotion we're making.

"What happened?" Mom asks, holding Lana and feeling her forehead.

Dad comes out too, kneeling by Lana's side. "You were being too rough with her," Dad accuses.

"No," I reply, delicately placing her in Dad's arms. "I just let her out of the chair for a while, but—"

Mom goes, "how could you?"

Dad's focused on Lana whose struggling to breath. "You're supposed to be looking after her," Dad says. "You're her big brother."

"I know—" I start as my voice trails off.

Mom and Dad tell us we all have to go to the hospital.

They leave straight back out the door.

I didn't mean to hurt her.

I'm the last one to close the door.

* * *

 **"الله أكبر (God is the greatest,)"** I say, raising both hands up close to my ears.

Krew, Isaiah and Moey are somewhere behind me. The mosque is pretty much jam packed with the usual lot of guys. That unmistakable musty aroma of these older dudes praying way to close together.

"باسم الله، الرحمة الرحمة بلا حدود. (In the name of God, the infinitely compassionate and merciful,)" I say, putting one hand on the top of the other hand. "آمين (Amen.)"

There's no way TJ could actually know the creator of Señor Fusion. Then again, TJ's friends with just about everyone in Arkansas. It shouldn't really be a surprise.

"المجد لربى سبحانه وتعالى (Glory be to my Lord Almighty,)" I say, bent over with my hands on my knees.

Those assholes are gonna be raving about it for the rest of the summer. They won't let me hear the end of it if I don't come.

" سمع الله أولئك الذين يدعوونه. ربنا، الحمد لك (God hears those who call upon him, our Lord, praise be to you,)" I say, rising back up.

I'm just gonna do all my responsibilities today. Not like I'm scared of Dad, but I must be on his final nerve by now. I'd have to be crazy to ditch prayer.

I get on the ground and on to my knees. "المجد أن ربي، أعظم (Glory be to my Lord, the most high,)" I say, bowing, covering my face on the floor.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. On the sneak tip, I whip out that bad boy, without anybody seeing. Well, to be fair they can't see me because they're still praying with their heads down.

'Vince: It's on! God of Fusion haz delivered.'

 _Okay, it's on!_ Fudge this, like the great Gustov Griswald would say. Let's get this cracking.

I type back, 'Leave my VIP ticket with a bow on it. I'm there dude!'

I back away. Dad hasn't noticed. The Imam Khatib hasn't got a clue either. I spin around slowly. My Mini Me's have spot me skiving. Them three all shake their heads at me in unison. I mouth out a silent, "ssh" with a finger on my lips. I edge closer to them and their worried mugs turn into wide smiles. I casually leave through the front doors.

I'm outside. I move the dumpster and take my trash bag out. I take off my kurta, then my pants, until I'm just in my bare chest and boxers. Wait. My Fusion sense is tingling. Someone or something is looking at me. It's a dozen cute girls from the female side of the mosque. They're all practically breathing on the window's glass at me when they should be praying too. I smile back. They giggle at me. Some biting their lips. I take my regular clothes out of my trash bag and swap it with my Muslim clothes. I put everything back behind the dumpster. I walk passed them smiling as those girls are still super glued on me. In the corner of my eye, I notice their female Muslim teacher pull them back inside.

I whip my phone out again. I turn on my GPS. I know where Comicopolous is, it's just that, on my way I might as well take full advantage and catch a few Jamàcamons. I flick to my Jamàcamon Now app. Passing some buildings, I gather up a few Jamàca balls. There's a Sheepeon nearby. I encounter it. It bounces on to my screen. Swiping the screen, it takes me two Jamàca balls to catch it. I catch a few more Jamàcamons that I have done before. Dragosaur. Ghostling. Ogrezoid. I'll die happy if I could just capture one rare Jamàcamon.

I enter inside Comicopolous. The usual comic book section everyone from the public is welcome. I move through the open area and stand in the section separating the convention part. There's a guard blocking up the rest of this gigantic place. I spend a moment to myself. Have I done the right thing? Before I can really contemplate, Vince calls me and jogs up to my direction. He moves up to me with a V.I.P ticket dangling around his neck.

"Where have you been, man?" Vince asks.

"But I'm here, aren't I?" I say. He's by himself. "Where's—?"

I feel someone move up behind me. "It's time for the moment you've been waiting for," I hear TJ say. "Drum roll, Vince."

Vince drum rolls on the wall by the side. TJ lays the ticket necklace on my chest like he's knighting me. He turns back around at me. We all have our tickets on now. The bodyguard nods at us three to come in.

"Okay chums," TJ says, holding our shoulders in excitement. "Welcome to heaven."

This is crazy. Booths giving away free gaming merchandise. Video game characters just walking passed me. Sexy gamer girls showing out their assets. Cosplay girls in hyper realistic costumes blurring the line between reality and fiction. Cartoons spiraling from the banners. I'm almost hyperventilating. I think I'm getting too overly stimulated. I can't blink and I don't want to. At least for me, being a teenager pansexual in a Comic Con is like my mind being in a virtual orgy.

Vince and TJ snap me out of my day-dreaming. They call me over to a demonstration of the new Ultra-box Infinity console. New games are being broadcasted on trailers.

"Hey fellas!"

A frighteningly familiar voice calls to us. It's Felicia the goat, only she's wearing a Mei costume, from the video game Overwatch. TJ introduces himself to her. Vince and I don't say anything. We just remain hostile to her like we always do. TJ doesn't seem to know why.

Vince sighs not looking at her directly. "Bye Felicia," Vince grunts.

I put my arm around TJ and say down low in a whisper, " _You know how there's always that nerd girl in movies that's so obviously hot underneath?_ "

"Yeah?" TJ replies.

I look back at Felicia, still talking to TJ. " _Not_ so obvious," I finish.

Felicia moves up to me and breaks up my talk with TJ. "Hey Troy," she says. She moves her hair trying to look sexy, but then she chews her tongue with her mouth open. "I wanna show you something outside."

"You can tell me here," I reply.

"In private," she emphasizes, looking from TJ and back to me. "We have something we need to catch up on."

Vince comes up to her. "Just leave us—"

"It's all right, V," I say, cutting him off slightly. "I'll let her down gently outside. I leave no witnesses, nah mean? She's not gonna get what she wants from me again."

I slap hands with Vince. The same one we do when he make a promise pact.

* * *

Felicia and I make-out hard outside of the convention. She pushes her lips hard against mine. I know I'm the only guy she's ever kissed. She bites my bottom lip. She slobbers on my ear with her tongue. I push her hard against the wall. She pulls my hair. If I keep her focused on my face, away from chewing my ear, she's probably the best kisser I've ever been with.

I can't deny Felicia. She's cute from her squared glasses down to her cankles. Her Cosplay is doing a lot for me this time.

I break away from our kissing.

"Felicia, Felicia," I say, keeping her an arm distance away. "We have to stop this. I can't keep doing this. I'm breaking up with you, even though we weren't really technically going out, but you get what I'm saying, don't you? We can't be friends either, okay?"

Felicia's face is emotionless as she listens. Her smile comes back. "You're funny," she says.

She goes to kiss me again. I push her away.

"Felicia, no," I say. "It's over."

She has a blank expression again. "Oh, okay," she says, looking down. She puts her head back up and kisses me again, but this time she lets go of me. "I'll see you around, babe."

She winks at me and leaves me by myself. Nothing is ever getting through to her. It's kind of commendable to be fair. If, a tad crazy.

I enter the Comic Con again. I'm a free man. I've been that way since before my failed break-up with Felicia, but it does feel like I can date anyone now. I flick through my phone on to my Selfiepod app. I go through my followers. I start from the top in alphabetical order. I hit on Ashley A, liking a few of her pictures. A picture with her in the cheer leading recital. A picture of her with her cat Muffin. A recent picture of her with the two other Ashleys from school playing tennis and sipping lemonade.

My phone moves around in my pocket. I got a Whaddown message.

'Ashley A: Thanx a ton, Troy.'

'Me: No probs, you look hella cute in those pics BBgirl, how could I not like em?'

'Ashley A: Rly?

'Me: U wanna go out?'

There's a pause from our quick exchanges. On my iCell the three dots have been taunting me in the speech bubble. I scan around at the lively Con. Character's are continuously walking by.

I get a response.

'Ashley A: Deffo. Meet me at my family's hotel tonight. Bring the boys. Triple date LOL.'

Why is she putting LOL at the end of that? It's not even funny. I guess, that acronym has completely lost meaning these days. LOL plays the safeguard to show you're not being so serious.

Vince calls me. "There you are," Vince says, with TJ alongside him. They have some bags of goodies with them. "What's going on, man?"

"I'm going out with Ashley A tonight," I reply.

TJ turns to me. "How'd you swing _that?"_ asks TJ. _  
_

"I liked her picture on Selfipod just now."

"What else?"

"That's it."

Vince grins wide. "Classic T!" Vince shouts. I just sigh. Vince wedges in the middle of us and hugs TJ and me tight. "Look at us. The three amigos."

We walk towards the Señor Fusion press conference. A guy in a plain black shirt, whose obviously working here, holding a basket, stops us all mid stride.

The worker dude looks at me. "You want some schwag?" he asks.

"I'm swagged out already, thank you," I reply, continuing to walk away from him to get to the conference.

"Then where is it?" the worker asks. "I can't see you with any?"

"You calling me out, dude?" I ask, stopping and turning back at him. "I have swag for days, bro."

"And I'm asking you if you want any," he says.

"And I'm telling you I'm swagged out," I reply, getting in his face.

"Do you want schwag or not!"

"I have swag!"

"No, you don't have schwag!"

"Yes, I do have swag!"

"Schwag-uh, do you want it?"

"Swagger, I already have it!"

"I don't think so," the worker says, looking at my size. "You clearly fail to have any at all."

"You wanna throw down?" I ask, pushing my forehead into his. "I'll take you outside, and swagger you up and down these walls."

That didn't make any sense. I don't care. Vince pushes me away from him.

TJ steps in. "Stop!" TJ shouts with urgency. "Swag means free-stuff-swag. It means something different here." TJ takes a plastic bag from the worker. It's full of bubblegum, key rings, Jamàcamon cards and Ultra-box vouchers. "See?"

"What?" I say in awe.

"It's spelled differently too, I think, I dunno," TJ explains.

The worker spells out, "S, C, H, W, A, G, not S, W—"

"Shut up, nerd," I say, as I take my cellphone out. I check up the new word he just told me. He's right. "Bonk me backwards! Why don't I know this?"

New words and their crazy made up multiple meanings are my thing. They're mine and Lana's thing. Our sacred bond.

"Is this your first Comic Con?" the worker asks me.

I laugh and put my hand on the worker's shoulder. "Thanks, man," I say. "This is awesome. The whole thing. You know what? You nerd-do-well panty raiders are all right."

The worker stares at me shocked with wide eyes.

"Well?" I say, putting my empty hands out. "What'chu waiting for? Schwag me out, bitch!"

* * *

 **The hotel Armbruster is bonerific,** so why is my date with Ashley A boring me so much?

"The gluten-free sugar fat free cake is to die for," Ashley A says.

I'm on a triple date with the Ashleys. Vince got dragged into this by me. He's making that known with his death glare he's giving me. Ashley B, whose beside him, doesn't notice. Mikey is here with Ashley T. We're in the restaurant part of the hotel. My attention is getting grabbed away by whatever is happening just in the ballroom outside.

Ashley B chuckles back at Ashley A. "I _so_ have gotta like, get the recipe from your head chef," says Ashley B. "Right Vince?"

"Mm-hmm," Vince replies.

Ashley A turns to me. "What do _you_ think, Troy?" Ashley A asks.

I wonder how many guests there are here. There has to be something fun we could do. Even the old folks look like they're having more fun. People shouldn't sleep on old people, Allah knows they'll sleep on you.

"Troy?" Ashley A repeats.

"Yeah, cakes never not been awesome," I mumble back. I'm still focused on what's going on outside. "What's going on out there?"

"Oh," Ashley A says, "that's just the older retired guests of the hotel."

"What are they doing?"

Ashley B almost chortles. "It's a ballroom, Troy," says Ashley B. "What do you _think_ they're doing?"

I pause. I get up from my seat. Moving out of the restaurant part, I move over to the ballroom. I watch on the side for a second. An old lady asks me if I want to join. I do. Now I'm dancing with presumably somebody's grandma. The other five come out to see. Mikey joins in with the dancing almost immediately. Ashley T sneaks up to the CD player. She looks back at me and nods. I nod back. She replaces whatever was soft in tempo into some more modern music. All of them are dancing too. Except for Ashley A whose looking ticked off and ignored. It's a lot livelier now. The dancing amps up. I motorboat the grandma's breasts, I'm dancing with. Ashley A lets out a laugh and smiles. We swing arms, spinning each other around.

I leave back out.

We cause a little mayhem in the hotel. I get some popcorn seeds and head to the beauty section. I cram the seeds into a tanning bed. Mikey and Vince hold out some trash bags. I countdown from three. Opening the bed, the popcorn sprays around the spa. The Ashleys shield their hair laughing. The guys fill up the bags with the fresh raining popcorn.

We head outside. We joy ride on the abandoned golf carts. Two of us in each of them with our dates alongside us. Ashley A opens up a tennis court, where we ride our carts into. At the same time we swing rackets with balls over the other side in a couples game. Almost crashing into each other.

Vince, Mikey and Ashley T gather up a projector from the hotel. We drive our golf courts up to a plain wall. We set up a private movie screening with a film projecting off of the wall. On our golf carts it looks like our very own movie drive-in. The trash bags full of popcorn are now being munched on.

We're ten or so minutes into watching a movie that's still technically just coming out in the theaters.

"Great idea you bringing us, T!" Vince says to me, his arm around Ashley B.

Halfway through the movie Ashley A nudges me. I nudge her back. She flicks down at my lips. I smooch her. She stops me. She pulls me closer and kisses me harder against her lips. I think the other dates with Mikey and Vince are going the same way. She won't get her hands off me know. I can't really blame her.

I divert my eyes and check my phone with Ashley A still tonguing me. It's almost nine. I stop kissing her. I check the sky for the first time. It's pretty much almost pitch black. _Dang!_ I'm late. I'm really late.

I vault out of the golf cart. I tell them all I have to go. The movie is still playing without me.

How am I gonna get home?

"Aye, Ashley, how fast do those golf carts go?" I ask her.

"Regulation, 25 miles and hour," she replies, "on the road, 55."

"Hmm," I hum, my finger on my chin.

* * *

I brake the golf cart to a stop right outside the martial arts studio. I race inside the dojo. It's empty. I call for my brothers.

Sensei is picking up a safety mat and dragging it on to the side. He lifts his head at me and goes back to what he's doing. "They've left already," he says.

"What?" I reply, looking around to see if he was joking. There's nothing. "It's late. They're not—they, they can't be going home by themselves at this time."

"Well, they waited for you," he replies, walking up to me. "The eldest, Mohammad, he said he could take over."

I leave back out of the dojo. I dart inside the golf cart and speed back home.

Parking by the side of the road, I head inside the house. I call their names again, looking through the living room. They're not there. Mom comes up to me. I walk around her and head upstairs. I check through their rooms. It's empty too. My heart races. Wait. I walk backwards towards my room. My Mini Me's. They're sitting on my bed messing it up, playing on my Ultra-box.

Krew bounces off my bed in fright, dropping my video game controller. "It was Moey's idea."

Moey looks worried too. "I thought we could play your game just a lil bit."

I walk up to them with my fists clenched. I soften my glare into a smile. I hug Krew and Moey.

Isaiah sits there looking confused. "You're not mad at us?"

I shake my head. "Never," I reply. I stand up straight. "Now get outta my bedroom before I give you all purple nurples."

I hear, "Thomas!" from downstairs.

It's Dad. I walk downstairs with Dad's serious face staring back at me.

"Where were you today?" Dad shouts at me.

"Out," I reply.

"Out where? Where's out?"

"Out with friends, Dad," I reply, moving away from the stairs and on to the bottom.

Mom steps in. "You can't be doing this, Thomas," she moans.

Dad crosses his arms. "You snuck out of prayer," he starts, "you didn't pick up Isaiah, Krew and Mohammed. They had to walk home after dark unsupervised. Yesterday you made your sister become ill."

"What are you talking about?" I say. My brothers come halfway down the stairs. "There's a lot about Lana you don't know. I was just trying to help her. It's all I ever do."

Moey calls and says, "it's not Thomas' fault."

Mom ignores Moey, shaking her head at me, crossing her arms too. "You weren't here for a week, Thomas, and then you're on the television fighting against the police in your school."

"I had to save my friend from juvie," I say.

Dad raises his eyebrows and says, "that's the first time we're hearing that!"

Mom's voice becomes weaker. "We heard nothing from you all that time," says Mom. "We didn't know where you were, what you were getting up to. If we knew you were gonna get in this sort of trouble we wouldn't have moved here in the first place." Mom pauses holding herself from tears. "We need you to be the second man of the house, but—"

"What's worse," Dad goes, moving up to me. "Is you don't care about your sister. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

"Shut up!" I shout at him. "No one loves Lana more than I do!" Dad gets up in my face. "You wanna throw down?"

"Throw down?" Dad asks. "I won't _throw down,_ but I'll throw you out."

"What you mean?"

Dad walks around me and opens the front door. "Get out of my house," he says.

"Where am I supposed to go?" I ask.

"Why don't you stay in one of your friend's houses. You seem to want to be with them more than your own family."

I reach for my Zeus sneakers and slip them on.

Mom rushes up to me holding my arm. "Thomas—"

"By the way, it's Troy," I say back at Mom. "My friends call me _Troy_. I mean, it beats Thomas Tānk Engine Morteza. Like, really Mom?" I move over to the door. I look over only at my three brothers, Mom and then Dad, seeing as Lana is still recovering in the hospital. "Late."

I vault back in the golf cart.

I head off to Vince's. He should be back home by now. I park up the cart. Reaching Vince's door, I press his doorbell.

Vince answers the door. "T?" he asks, twisting his eyebrows.

"So, funny story," I say, with a sigh. "My dad kicked me out."

"First off, not funny," says Vince. "Secondly, um, just, just come in, man."

Vince moves back inside to let me in.

Vince's mom comes down from the stairs. "Vince, who was that? What's going—oh, hey Troy," she greets. I smile back. "How are you? This is late for you two, isn't it?"

Vince's dad comes through from the living room. "Whose that?" his dad asks.

"Evening LaSalles," I say, as I go on to explain to them that my dad kicked me out and I need a place to stay.

"What?" Vince's dad says. "That's preposterous. You two were at the Comic Con all day today I believe. What could you have done to get thrown out if you were out all day?"

I sigh. "You'd be surprised," I reply.

Vince's mom goes for her phone. "Let me call your mother," she says.

"No!" Vince and I say together at the same time.

"Troy can just stay in my room," suggests Vince, "better yet, he can move in into Chad's room."

Mom gives an unconvinced look. "That's not the right thing to do, Vince," she says. "We have to communicate. Let me just find my old phone book. It's here somewhere."

Vince puts his arm around me, moving me away by the door. "Okay, man, it's a hostile environment over here, so there's only one thing you can do," Vince says.

"TJ?" I ask.

"TJ," Vince agrees.

I slunk out of Vince's house. Back on the cart again, I go towards TJ's place.

I knock on TJ's door. TJ answers it.

"Funny story," I say again, as I go on to tell him the same thing I told Vince.

"That whomps," TJ replies.

"So, can I stay here tonight?"

"I dunno."

"No space in the inn?" I ask. TJ stands still unsure with what to say. I start to back away. "Okay, TJ. No problem."

"No," TJ starts. "I mean, come in." I move into his house. "You know how parents are. They'll make conclusions thinking you've run away, next thing you know, they're trying to call your parents or something."

"Oh, I know," I reply.

TJ's mom comes through the hallway and says hello to me. I introduce myself and explain what happened.

"You poor baby," she says. "That's a truly terrible thing for your dad to do. What's his number, so I can talk to him?

"Mom," TJ says, stopping her. "Troy really really doesn't want any other parent bothering his dad right now. Can he just stay here, at least until it blows over?"

"I don't know," she replies.

"Please Mom?"

"Well, all right," she goes. "Now that I think about it, someone who just throws out their son like this is someone I don't really consider wanting to be talking to." She turns to me. "Stay here as long as you like, dear."

TJ and I pat fists.

Becky comes downstairs. "What's all this then?" Becky asks.

"Becky," TJ says, leaning his head towards me. "Troy's gonna be staying here for a while."

I look at her. "Hey," I say.

"You again!" Becky shouts. "Get that creeper away from me! You sicko asshole freak!"

"Becky!" her mom shouts in shock.

"No, she's right," I say with a sigh. "Thanks for the offer, Mrs Detweiler, Teej. There's some other friends houses I could crash at, so."

I move back to the door and walk back out again.

"You're not even gonna apologize to me?" Becky blasts, as I leave.

I go to Gus' house.

I press his door bell and wait.

His dad, Lieutenant Griswald, opens the door. We stare at each other not saying anything. Nothing but bitter looks.

"Gus!" he finally shouts.

Gus' dad goes back inside as soon as Gus turns up to replace him by the door. Gus says, "Hi" to me. I tell him what's going on.

"Gosh, that's terrible," says Gus. "I want you to stay. It would be really fun and everything, but my dad, he thinks you're a bad influence."

"Yeah, I get that," I reply.

"Oh. You should ask—"

"TJ," I say, interrupting him. "Yeah, tried that." Gus is about to speak. "Yeah, and Vince too."

"No, I was gonna suggest Mikey, actually," Gus says. "His parents are really nice."

I take Gus' advice and head over to Mikey's house.

Mikey's mom answers the door.

"Hey, can I talk Mikey?" I ask her.

"No sorry," she replies, with a sigh. "Mikey's with his two dads right now."

"Oh, okay," I reply. I squint my eyes thinking in deeply. "Two dads? _Dads?_ As in, dads plural?"

"Yes, plural," she says, "his two dads."

I scratch my head in confusion. I turn around slowly and go back to my cart. Mikey's mom looks saddened at me. Maybe she feels bad for me and can sense what's going on. However, I have the odd feeling that Mikey's mom wanted me to stay.

I reach outside Gretchen's house.

I press her very intricate door bell. She answer's the door.

"Hey smart mouth," I say to her.

"Troy?" she asks. "What are you doing here?"

I spit out the same shebang. Gretchen goes inside her house, calling her mom and explaining everything. Surprisingly, her mom says it's actually okay that I can stay. She doesn't even suggest calling my parents even when she knows I got kicked out. Gretchen says I can even crash on the couch, but they say it's in Mrs Grundler's office.

I look around the office door to test what the couch is like. Mrs Grundler is there sitting down on a chair.

"Oh sorry, I can leave," I say, holding the door knob.

"No, that's quite all right," Mrs Grundler replies. "Make your self comfortable."

"Sweet," I say, falling on the green couch.

"So Troy, what's bought you here today?"

"My dad," I say, slowly, turning my head at her. I thought I already explained that. "He threw me out."

"Uh-huh, and how did that make you feel?" Mrs Grundler asks.

"I dunno. Like a crap."

"Yes, but how did you _feel?"_

I pause. "Okay, that's it," I say, getting off the now very apparent therapist chair. "I'm going."

I leave through the front door.

Gretchen opens her door. "Troy, where are you—? Troy, you're driving a golf cart."

"Nothing gets by you, does it, Gretchen?" I say, getting back in the cart and driving away.

I reach Spinelli's house.

I press her doorbell. It's not working. I knock on the door a few times instead.

Spinelli opens the door. She looks oddly at me with the expression she has when she doesn't wanna talk to me.

I sigh. "Forget it," I say, turning away.

Spinelli laughs out loud asking, "What happened? You finally got thrown out or something?"

I stare at the ground not budging a smile or even a grin. Spinelli eyes soften. She lets me in.

"Give me a second," she says, going further inside her house.

I stand by the door. I take some time looking at her house. It has a welcoming home-y feel.

Spinelli comes back out with her dad. "It's okay," Spinelli says. "You can have the guest room. It used to be Joey's."

Her dad puts his hands out. "Hold on, wait," he says. He moves up to me and shakes my hand. "Nice to me you, Troy. I've heard a lot about you."

"Good stuff, I hope," I reply.

Mr Spinelli smiles at that. "I need to undo some, uh," he starts. He looks at Spinelli. She shakes her head a little at him. "Booby traps."

Her dad goes upstairs in a rush.

I laugh.

"What's so funny?" Spinelli asks.

"Booby trap," I reply, "it's a funny word."

We wait for the guest room to be clear. I move to the kitchen and sit by the table. Mrs Spinelli makes and hands me some hot cocoa. I take it. Spinelli is sitting on the other side of the table on her phone. Mrs Spinelli is just looking at me. I thank her for the drink and take a sip. She continues just looking at me, smiling, not saying anything.

After a while, Mr Spinelli tell us that the room is ready. I can't wait to go upstairs. I leave the drink on the table, and follow Spinelli as she's got off from her chair.

I move towards Joey's old room. It's a nice open bedroom, that seems to have been renovated, with a pool table, an office desk and a sofa chair which I presume is where I will be sleeping. Mr Spinelli leaves Spinelli and I alone.

I pull down and stretch out the bed. I sit down on the edge of it.

Spinelli sighs as she sits down next to me on the bed. "I thought you were an arrogant prick at first," Spinelli starts. "When I first met you." She pauses and really looks at me. "But you're not. You're just not afraid to speak your mind."

"Spinelli, you do know you're beautiful, right?" I say, turning to her and smirking. "Cause somebody should really tell you that."

"You had to spoil it, didn't ya?" she says, with a straight face.

"Thanks for taking him in."

"You're not staying."

"Huh?"

"I lied to my folks," she explains. "They think we're having a really late and spontaneous sleepover. If you can believe that."

"That's why your mom was looking at me like that," I say.

"Yeah," Spinelli says, slowly, probably not having noticed, being on her phone the whole time. "You don't want _my_ parents calling _your_ parents. It'll be a whole thing. You should ask Joey and stay at his place. Tell him you haven't got any money, so you don't have to pay rent, but get a job anyway just in case he changes his mind."

"All right," I reply. Spinelli sits in silence for a minute. I smile at her. She smiles back. "This is nice. We should talk more."

"Yeah," she says. "So, goodnight."

With that, Spinelli gets up and goes for the door.

"Hey," I say.

"Yeah Troy?" she asks, stopping by the door.

"There's just one thing. If I'm gonna get a job, whose crazy enough to hire a fifteen year old?"

* * *

 **"And _this_ is the ice cream machine," ** Gus explains, showing it to me. **  
**

He turns it on with a demonstration.

"Whoa," I say, trying to tie my apron on tighter.

"I got that for you, buddy," says Gus, putting the apron on for me. "I was the same on _my_ first day. It can output 300 cones an hour. High quality soft serve, producing enough ice cream, frozen yogurt and sorbet till your heart's content."

"Nah, that's not it," I reply. "I'm just surprised it actually works. The Floppy Burger one is pretty much extinct."

Working with Gus is fun. But it's still work. I'm so grateful Mr Kelso gave me a chance to work here besides my lack of experience anywhere.

After two hours I go back to Joey's bungalow.

I open the door with my key. Spinelli is there waiting for me. She's watching TV, throwing dry cereal chunks in her mouth like popcorn.

"Hey honey, I'm home," I say to her.

I crash hard on the couch next to her. Opening the martian piss soda, I gulp it down hard, then slam it on the coffee table in-front of us.

"Hard day at work, dear?" Spinelli replies.

"Don't get me started," I say. "First these snot noses wanna put their sweat and mucus infected hands all over the pick n' mix. Then this asshole, Skeens I think his name was, thought he could harass the Gus-Man when he's clearly banned from the store. Well, not on _my_ time."

Spinelli takes in all of my rambles. I'm stumped. Spinelli seems to actually care with what I've got to say.

I take the remote off the coffee table. "Let's try something," I say.

I turn to the wrestling.

"What are you doing?" Spinelli asks, showing distaste. "Wrestling's fake."

I turn the volume down until it goes on completely mute. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to roid rage rated PG 13," I say, exactly the same time as the wrestler would as I dub over what he's saying.

A scarlet wrestler starts talking. "Ooh look at me," Spinelli goes joining in with the dubbing. "Let me make sure my makeup is done up perfectly first."

The wrestler whose talking, moves his leg on the red tight rope for the scarlet to exit out of the ring. "After you, darling," I say, mimicking what he's doing on screen. "Ladies first."

"Well that's awfully kind of you, dumb-nuts," Spinelli replies as the scarlet wrestler.

Spinelli chuckles with me. I can't stop gazes at her eyes. She motions me to carry on.

"Where's my damn steel chair to smash your face on?" I go.

* * *

 **I'm curled up in bed with Lana.** I don't think she's getting any better. She fiddles with the Beanie McChimp toy that I got her. We lay beside each other just enjoying the peace and quiet for a while. **  
**

"Havo yeds Rella? (Have you told Spinelli, yet?) Lana asks, peering her big eyes at me.

"Told her what?" I ask her back, combing her hair with my hands.

Why is Lana asking about Spinelli for? I'm surprised she even remembers her. She's only met her once.

"Lan sick nobo stumb, (I'm sick not stupid,)" Lana says, now focusing on her toy.

"Okay, fine," I reply, playing her toy with her. I sigh. "No I haven't."

"Pussy."

"Did you just call me a—?"

I wrestle down Lana with a tickle fight. She screams out loud in laughter. We roll around on the hospital bed.

There's a knock on the opened door.

It's the Imam Khatib from the mosque. "I'm not too early, am I?" he asks, with a book in hand.

I shrug and invite him in.

"Your Dad asked me to bless Lana," he continues.

"Bless away," I say, giving him space to work.

The Imam Khatib puts his hand on Lana's forehead as he mumbles a prayer. "I've picked a passage," he starts, taking his book out and stopping at a page. "Prophet Mohamed once said, 'in a dream I saw myself following a herd of black sheep. Then a group of white sheep came and mixed with the black sheep until they, the white sheep, became so many that the black sheep could no longer be seen in the herd of sheep.'" He stops. "The black sheep, they are the Arabs." He explains as he pauses from paraphrasing. "They will accept Islam and become many. The white sheep will accept Islam and become so many that the Arabs will no longer be noticed amongst them. The Prophet Mohamed then said that an angel had interpreted the dream the same way."

Lana and I look at each other. We're both lost. Black sheep. That's exactly what I am. I'm the black sheep of the family.

A doctor comes in this time. "May I talk to the father?" he asks, looking at the Imam Khatib. "Mr Morteza?"

The Imam Khatib says that he isn't our dad. I step in and move off the bed. I follow the doctor out of Lana's room.

"Are you, Mr Morteza?" the doctor asks.

"Yeah, but I'm her big brother," I reply.

"Okay, good," the doctor says. He sighs and takes a while to look back at me. "Usually spina bifida isn't fatal, but anytime the central nervous system is exposed to the general environment, infection that compromises brain or spinal function can occur."

"So, she's not getting any better?" I ask.

The doctor shakes his head. He doesn't say anymore. I don't think he has to. We're already in the ward for the terminally ill. Bad news is probably mandatory for him.

He asks me to give Lana some rest. I go back to Lana and hug her.

"Tom-Tom, dose fer, (Thomas don't go,)" Lana says, holding on to me.

The doctor looks back at me and smiles.

I turn back to Lana, whose still holding me. "I'm not going anywhere," I say, letting go of her as I put my hand through her hair. "I'm gonna be just outside."

I move out of the room. I have one more look of Lana as I leave.

Walking down the hospital hallway, I take a seat by myself. I cover my face for a second. Readjusting my body, I sit up straight.

A girl walks up to me and sits on the empty seat beside me. It's Maddie.

"Troy," greets Maddie, almost looking as spaced out as I am.

"Maddie," I reply.

We sit in silence for a second.

"My mom is having her baby right now," says Maddie. "My baby sister."

 _Wow!_ That's pretty ironic. One baby sister dies as another baby sister gets born. It does happen everyday though.

I nod back at her. "You remember me yet?" I ask.

"No, sorry I don't," Maddie replies. She has a good look at me. "You were the first person I came out to, weren't you?"

"Yep."

"There's something about you that seems trusting anyway. You just seem so authentic."

"Thanks, they were expensive," I say, lifting up my Zeus sneakers at her.

Maddie giggles as I let out a laugh too. "Okay, that still applies, I think," she replies, looking down at them. We pause as we eventually stop chuckling. "I'm moving away, Troy. I won't be at Thad high next year."

"Whoa, really? That sucks, dude," I say. I turn to her. "Maddie?"

"Yeah?" she replies.

"If you can remember anything. Come to the high school reunion in a couple years."

"But that's for—"

"I don't care. You're coming to it."

Maddie pats me on the arm. I get up to stretch my legs for a second. I walk up the hallway to check on Lana. A doctor wedges passed me. I keep on walking. Then there's another doctor, then another, and they're all going in the same direction. Where I came from. _Oh no!_

I reach by the window. Lana's room is filling up with doctors. Dad, Mom and brothers seem to have turned up since I was gone. They're by her bedside as they eventually get pushed back to the side of the room. Her heart monitor is going haywire. I see this all going down from the other side of the window.

The doctors are trying to save her. Lana sees me through the window. She grips her Beanie McChimp. Her eyes close. A flat line echoes through the hallway. The doctors stop. It's silence. She drops her doll.

The Imam Khatib comforts my arm. I jolt slightly. I didn't know he was there this whole time.

"Sleep tight, princess," I say, feeling my throat choke up.

I walk away before Mom and Dad notice me. I walk back down the hallway holding my head. My insides feel hollow again. But I don't like this feeling. I don't like it at all. I place my head against the wall. Someone pulls me by the arm. It's Maddie again and she's leading me away to somewhere else in the hospital.

"Maddie?" I ask, running with her. "What are you doing?"

Maddie stops us by a room and opens the door. She goes by the bed. It's her mom on the bed holding her newborn sister. I stand still on the side. I can't be here. This is too much.

"Troy," Maddie says, ushering me over. "Come."

She pulls me closer to the bed side.

Maddie's mom, Mrs Feldman, looks up at me and asks, "You wanna hold her?"

I don't. I can't move. Maddie nudges me to move. I put my hands out and hold the baby.

"She hasn't got a name yet," Mrs Feldman says. She turns to the side. "What do you think, Maddie?"

Maddie and her mom are brainstorming name ideas. My brain is white noise. I'm barely lip reading what they're saying, like I'm dubbing on muted TV with Spinelli. I try to focus. I think Mrs Feldman is saying she's glad she's changed her mind about having a home birth, or something. I look down at the baby. She's cute. She moves around a little as it curdles into my chest.

Lana. My baby sister. All she wanted to be was a normal kid. She was more than that. She was special, no, she is special. She's still alive to me. Always.

"Rella," I say.

"Rella?" Maddie replies.

"Rella," Mrs Feldman goes. "I like that. We should call her Rella Feldman. Thank you, Troy."

Maddie smiles next to her mom. "It does sort of have a ring to it," says Maddie.

I close my eyes tight. Tears well up in my eyes. I'm still holding the baby.

"Aw, look at you crying, you big softy," Maddie says.

"Shut up, Mad," I reply, as tears roll down my cheeks as I look down at Rella Feldman.

* * *

I down my bubblegum vodka. It's late and the night has fallen. I really do seem to have a knack at sweet talking any girl I want. Well, almost any girl. I persuaded Sue Bob Murphy to sell me this vodka at the Quick-O mart.

I'm entering the park. There's a gang of youths walking by me. I'm tough enough, if they pop off, I should be able to talk myself out of it. I keep walking, lifting my head up at the night sky. Wiping down fresh tears on my face.

A guy stops me. He pushes me back as he stops me mid stride. It's Chucko Kowalski from 98th Street High. My heart skips. They've caught me cold. I'm all alone. His four cronies Jocko, Buster, Korero and Cheay are all beside him. Of all the dumb luck.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Troy Morteza looking worst for wear," Chucko says, measuring me up and down.

"Not now, man," I say, walking away from him.

 _"Not now, man?"_ Chucko says, pushing me back and blocking my route. "I don't think you're getting it with what's happening here."

Korero moves up. "We're gonna break your face," Korero says.

"Guys, don't," I mumble. "Come on."

Chucko eyes twitch. "Are you—?" Chucko starts, chuckling. "Are you actually begging me right now? Is that what you're doing?"

I stop and stare. I'm not gonna beg him for forgiveness, am I? That's not my style. Besides, even if I do, he's just gonna beat me up anyway, it'll only heap on the humiliation.

"Nah," I reply, screwing my eyes at his. "Begging was _you_ pleading for me to stop electrocuting your nips off."

"Good to hear," Chucko says, nodding. "Because we did a bit of snooping and we found out where you lived and got away with your rug, and guess what?"

I don't reply.

"Go on, guess," Chucko goes.

"What?" I ask.

"I found out what a Persian cigar is. Cool, right?"

Chucko parts through his group of cronies and reveals my rug. The same rug I use to pray to Allah on.

I sigh and reach for the rug. "Fine, lets get this over with," I say reaching for it.

"Hey, hey, hey, not yet," Chucko goes, pulling the rug back. "You didn't think you were gonna get away with it _that_ easy, did you? How about a nice friendly mollywhop and _then_ a Persian cigar to match your heritage."

His cronies surround me. There's no way to escape now. I smile and chuckle.

"You know what?" I say, "I'm impressed. You actually remembered I'm Persian not Arabian."

"Thank you," replies Chucko, as he proceeds to crack his knuckles. "Let us show our appreciation."

I back away. Korero has gone behind me. Chucko punches me straight on. I fall on the ground.

"Get up!" Chucko jeers. "Get up, Jasmine!"

 _Damn it! Fine!_ I pick myself back up. I take a swing at Chucko. I miss. My fist hits Buster. Chucko punches me one way. Cheay punches me another. I fall again. Korero picks me up this time and gets me back up on my feet. Chucko looks back at his cronies. Buster has a look at me and punches me in the gut. I feel the wind gush out of my lungs. Korero pulls my hair to get my head back up. Chucko punches me again. I fall again. All five of them kick the crap out of me. A sneaker hits my right eye. Another kick hits my other eye.

I cough up blood. They stop. Korero picks me up, as they roll me into my rug, until I'm completely inside of it. Resembling a Persian cigar. I feel my Zeus sneakers getting taken off. My bare naked feet feel cold. I'm pushed. My head smashes against the hard grass. I'm completely immobile. I'm falling further and further down the hill. I fall hard as I hit a stop.

"Take it like a man and shake it off!" Chucko shouts.

I've had it with people telling me to be a man about stuff. I'm still a teenager for crying out loud.

I maneuver my body out of my rug. My entire body is sore. I can't see out of my right eye. My left eye isn't so much better. I cough out in wheezes. I take my rug with me.

I wobble bare foot. The drink's gone straight through me. I need to piss. I find a nearby building. I have no idea where I am right now. That's hardly because I've kinda been blinded. I'm so dazed. I unzip my pants and piss away.

I look up at the night sky. I tilt my head to the side. _Oh crap!_ Mom? Dad? My parents and my brothers are there looking at me. They've just come out of this building. The building. I check the building I'm pissing on. It's the mosque we pray in. I look at my junk. I look at my family. I look at the mosque. I can't stop myself from pissing.

"Aw, come on!" I moan.

I can't stop pissing once I've started. This looks so wrong, but I can't stop. A minute rolls by. There's no talking out of this. Sweet talking or not. My urine hose finally runs out.

I walk up to them.

"Oh, Thomas," Mom says, shaking her head at me. "Look at you."

It must seem as if I've been living rough since Dad kicked me out. This has only happened to me very recently.

My brothers run up to me in a hug. I stare back at Dad.

"Go back to Mom and Dad," I tell them.

Krew holds me tight. "We wanna stay with you," Krew says, as the other two silently agree.

"No," I say, letting go of the hug. "Listen to Mom and Dad. You gotta be strong for them right now, okay?"

I push them off of me until they get the message. My brothers walk back to Mom and Dad.

Dad stares at me but still keeps a distance. "You're welcome back to the house," Dad says.

"Cool," I reply, walking over to them all.

"If you apologize," Dad finishes. "For everything."

"No, I can't," I say, shaking my head at him. "I'm not sorry." Mom holds back tears. I walk away. I stop and then I turn back around. "Oh, totally non-related. Someone may or may have not broken into the house. It wasn't me. Honest."

Mom and Dad stare back at me disappointed.

* * *

I make my way down to Deadman's dirt pile. Lana did say I should tell Spinelli what I really feel about her. I'm by the lake where Spinelli and I skipped rocks across once. I lay my rug out on the grass. Taking my other Beanie McChimp doll out, I put it on the rug for her. My version of a rough and basic picnic.

I type to Spinelli, 'Meet me at the lake.'

No response. I wait a while for her. I finally have time to reflect as the lake does the same as the moon shines on it. All of Chucko's beatings, finding out Maddie's moving away, even being technically homeless, doesn't bother me. It's losing Lana that's gonna chip away at me forever. She knew me better than anyone else. I mean, she knows what I felt about Spinelli, and she only met her once. Spinelli? I check my phone again. She hasn't texted back. I never double text. I stand by whatever I write or say, no matter what it is.

If Spinelli turns up I can bring firework sparklers, martian piss soda, sweets, and all the donuts we can eat.

It's been an hour and Spinelli hasn't responded. Not even a hint of three dots appearing on the chat.

I roll my rug back up and scuff the Beanie McChimp back in my pocket.

I trudge to the park and sit on a vacant swing by myself. I throw my rug to the side. Taking a moment to look at the night sky.

I feel the swing beside me move. I'm sensing someone sitting next to me. It's a girl, that's for sure. That unmistakable scent.

I laugh. I know this girl.

"So," I say, looking at my bare feet. I turn to her. "What's a small town girl like you, doing in a hobo hotspot like this?"

**[PLAY SONG "Duckwrth - GET UUGLY" AT THIS POINT]**


	17. Happy Unbirthday

**Recess High school years**

 **Summer Bummer: Happy Unbirthday  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Episode 2

Molly POV

* * *

 **"Stargazing and stuff,"** I say. **  
**

"Cool," Troy replies, having been here before me, just sitting here on the swings by himself.

The night is beautiful. Stars that I wish that could somehow spirit me away someday. Constellations that look like cartoons.

"Cools," I say back.

 _"Cools?_ As in, cools plural?" Troy asks. I nod back at him. "I guess, two cools are better than one."

"What happened to your shoes?" I ask, noticing Troy's bare feet.

"Oh, crap, right," Troy starts, "uh, some guy took them."

"That's not very nice," I say.

"I kinda had it coming."

Troy's face becomes a lot more clearer. It's so dark out here. Troy's cute face is all cut up. Bruises around his cheeks. Dry blood around the corner of his bottom lip. _What?_ Both of his eyes are dilated around his now blackened shiners.

"Oh my gawd!" I gasp, clasping on to my mouth. "What—what happened? Who did this to you? Are you all right?"

Troy sighs and says, "I got mollywhopped, Chucko did it, I've been better."

He lists out each response with a flick of a finger. From the pinky down to the rude cussing one.

"It's getting late, I'm going home," I say, rising up from my swing seat. Let me tone it down a little. I don't want to trigger him by mentioning his cuts and bruises. "You want me to have a look at those, uh, bumps and boob-boos?"

Troy laughs at me. "Nah!" he replies, still sitting down. Troy shoots up to his feet. "I'm not laughing at you, Molly. I'll come. Thanks."

He picks up his rug and stands in-front of me looking a lot more alert. We walk together for a while as I lead the way.

Troy laughs again, but it's to himself this time. "It's just that I completely forgot that you were an option," Troy says, "I mean, I just forgot you even existed for a second, if that's weird."

I don't reply. I smile back at him. What could Troy mean by that? Am I that much of a forgettable person? I didn't have that many friends at middle school. Not that I was ever picked on. More than the usual anyway. If it wasn't for the group of friends I have right now at Thad High, I don't think I would be talking to anyone.

"Happy birthday," Troy says, as we continue to walk.

I turn my wrist and check my Fuzzy Unicorn watch. "Technically my birthday is in a few minutes," I reply.

"Happy unbirthday, then. It feels like I've been on Friendsite all night. Everyone's birthday's burned into my brain."

Troy is without a doubt one of the oddest of boys I've ever encountered on. His new made up words are super fun. But it's the way he goes about it. No apologies. No sorrys. He never takes back or regrets anything he says. Not even a simple alteration if it ends up offending anyone. I have the word 'sorry' burned into _my_ brain. I wish I could be more like him.

I'm home bound. Taking my keys out, I slowly open the door and let Troy inside alongside me. I go to the kitchen and head to the fridge. Getting a cup out, I empty some cubes from the ice maker into a soft rag, making it into a sack and hand it over to Troy. He looks oddly at it, weighing it in his hands, raising an eyebrow at me. I hold Troy's hand and guide the ice cold rag on to his eye.

"Oh," Troy sighs in realization.

I shake my head at him and giggle. Has he forgotten how beaten his face is already?

We make our way back out. Troy stops as he lowers his homemade ice pack. It's Bruiser. Fast asleep in his spot under the spiral staircase. My big brindle boxer. Troy stares back at me with shaky eyes. I smile and usher him to follow me upstairs. We're so quiet that the only sound is Bruiser's low snoring.

We're in my room.

"You always have to sneak boys into your room then?" Troy asks, closing my bedroom door behind himself.

"I guess I do," I say, shrugging. "Gus is the only boy whose made it in here without my dad finding out."

Troy smirks wide at the very mention of Gus' name.

"Gus, my man," Troy says, with a sniff, titling his head high. He turns back at me. "What happened when your dad _did_ found out a boy was here?"

"Well, Daddy is a little bit protective, so," I reply, stopping myself from carrying on.

"So, what happened?"

"He threw him out of _that_ window," I say, pointing at it. Troy turns around at it then spins back at me. "My friend fell three stories. My mom used to have a greenhouse where she grew all her vegetables and stuff. He fell through _that_. Since then, my friend can't go higher than four step cases without having a panic attack. But who _isn't_ scared of heights? My big brothers don't like when I bring boys over either, and they both came out of juvie, you know, just before the summer when TJ did. They should all be asleep right now anyways."

Troy's eyes widen with his mouth slightly gaping open. Wow. Troy's face. Whoever did all that to him gave out a real brutal bashing but good.

"Let me fix you up," I say, "I can do that, you know. I've stitched up all the stuffed toys in my room in _some_ point in time. Feel the callouses on my thumbs, go on, feel 'em."

Bruiser has either attempted to rip apart or dry hump just about every stuff doll I have in this room. _Ugh!_ I hate him. Why do puppies have to grow up? No erasies that. Why does anyone have to grow up?

Troy takes my hands to feel the tip of my fingers. He does like to read people's fortunes on their palms, but he's not doing that this time. Still feeling my callouses, we hold eye contact. My alarm beeps. Troy lets go. I turn back at the alarm clock on my dresser. It's turned midnight. I'm the big one-five. Quince años.

Troy turns his attention to my mirrored closet. His mouth gapes open again, but this time, much wider. His smile has faded. This must be the first time he's seen himself like this. He's finally seeing that his eyes have been hit so hard, they've changed color. One is bloodshot and the pupil is completely red. The other eye has turned blue. He no longer has those sweet brown eyes anymore.

"This—" he starts, looking at his reflection.

"I'm so sorry," I say.

"This—this, this is so cool," he goes on. " _Cools,_ I mean." He turns back at me for a second and carries on admiring his war wounds. "You think its gonna be permanent?"

I sit on my bed with a sigh. Troy enjoys his look a little longer before sitting alongside me.

Troy carries on saying, "no one at school has two different colored eyes like this, right? Unless they're wearing contacts or something."

I stare into his different eye colors. Caressing and feeling around his face. We peer at each other. We share glances at each others lips. Troy does look cuter with these red and blue eyes as if he's all supernatural. His beaten-up face makes him look rugged. I lean in. Troy jolts off the bed.

"I can't," Troy moans, jumping on to his bare feet.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Me and Gus are besties now. I know how he feels about you."

I get up, holding his hand and gawk up at him. "Are you sure?"

Troy moves in ready to kiss me. I close my eyes and move in too. Troy darts his head back again.

"Whoa!" Troy shouts, "Aw, man!" He paces around my bedroom holding his head. "What is that? That perfume. It's like a friggin' tractor beam."

"Tahitian Temptress, I think," I reply, checking the name of my bottle of perfume on the dresser.

"It gets sprayed on my face. No big deal. _You_ wear it, my whole body goes weak. Must be the same way how you can't smell your own bad breath or musty armpits."

I guess I'm not gonna get to kiss him. Oh well.

"I need to change," I say, pulling at my clothes a little to indicate it.

"'Kay," Troy replies.

"Well? Would you mind?"

"Go right ahead."

"Troy!"

Troy turns around with his back facing me. He's being silly staring at the wall like a naughty boy in the corner. I hold him by the shoulders and push him outside of my room.

"Hey," Troy goes, holding the side hinge of my door. "What if your parents wake up?"

"I won't be long," I reply, forcing him outside and closing the door on him.

Okay. Time to transform this place into my utopia. I undress. I take out the special cloth and lay it across my bed. I dim the lights. Turning on the illuminating lights dangling on the walls, until colors shine all over the room. Taking my fairy dress out the closet, I put it on. Strap on elf ears. Attach wings on my back. I place on my makeup. Smear some glitter on my cheeks. Going to my draw, I take out all of my items and place them beside my laptop. Two Chinese medicine balls, dry leaves, bubble wrap and an empty supercandy wrapper.

There's a knock on my door. I take a moment straightening my hair to make sure it looks beautiful. There's louder, longer, more frantic knocking on my door. I smile back at my reflection. I'm ready.

I open my door. Troy rushes back inside. He leans on the door breathing in and out in a panic.

"There was someone coming upstairs, I think your dad was getting a glass of—what happened in here?" Troy asks, looking around at my kingdom.

I don't answer and rather kneel down at my laptop. I switch on to my second Yourvidz channel, waving Troy aside for him to sit down and away from my camera shot. Troy follows my command by walking over and sitting on my bed.

I enable a live stream, and type the name of my live event, 'Faerie interactive role play ASMR'

" _Hello human,_ " I whisper, greeting my viewers watching this. _"I'm Molly, what's your name?"_

"What?" Troy goes.

I glare at Troy, making him stay quiet.

I continue. "That's a really nice name," I say in a hush tone. "I'm glad you came. Its very rare that I invite someone into my world so it means a lot that you're here. Maybe everything." I rub the dry leaves by the speaker. "Welcome to my forest." I get down low keeping my eyes up at the screen. "I learned your human language. You wanna hear mine?"

I ear eat either side of the microphone and hum in my native language. Fairy mantra.

Troy laughs out loud. Realizing I'm broadcasting live, he restrains himself.

I focus on the screen and smile. "Watch out for the puddles," I say, gently pressing the bubble wrap off-camera. "To travel into the kingdom, you need to go through a ritual with me." I roll around the Chinese medicine balls in my hand. "Those sounds you're hearing are signifying the arrival of the kingdom spirits. It will bless you and make you pure before you enter. They will protect and guide both of us through our journey." I rustle the candy wrapper. "Now that they're here we can begin the purification. I know that you're a good person but there is still the need to specially prepare you for entry into the most beautiful of worlds that I call my home."

"I hate to break it to you, but you're whoring yourself out," Troy goes, getting up beside me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to grab the laptop off of him.

Troy keeps the laptop away from me. "Don't you ever read the comments?"

"No, not really," I reply, stretching to hit the pause for my video. "On my vlogys sometimes."

"Vlogys? Okay."

Troy makes a new tab. On the internet search he types, 'popping Molly.' My account comes on. He clicks on to one of my most popular ASMR videos. He scrolls down the comment section.

I spot one out. "Look," I say, "this one with the most up votes says, 'she's too cute for this world and needs to be protected by any means'. That's good."

"But you're not reading these other ones," Troy replies. He reads one out. "'Does the carpet match the drapes?'"

I examine my carpet and then my drapes by the window. "Well, it doesn't, but that's a interesting question anyways—"

"He's not talking about your room, Molly," Troy replies, as he continues to scrolls down. "'Most justifiable jail bait ever.' 'I found this easy to fap to.' 'Cuteness off the Richter, FYI I typed this all with one hand.'" Troy pauses and ogles at one. "Aye, this one's good. 'I would drag my junk through a mile of broken glass just to hear her fart through a walkie talkie.'"

What does that even mean? I don't—doesn't anyone take me seriously? There's a whole world of people out there who only watch me for one thing.

"But I wasn't trying to be—" I start.

"Cuteness is what you are Molly," Troy explains. "You can't help that. It's just that, for some reason, your fanbase doesn't take you seriously."

"I'm trying to relax people."

"Sure, there's kind and honest people out there who wanna be relaxed, and then there's _not_ so kind and honest people who wanna be, you know, _relaxed,_ nah mean? Did you even hear what you were saying? Do you even hear the sorta stuff that come out of your mouth sometimes?"

I'm being myself. Flashing my natural hue. There's nothing wrong with the way I talk.

"I'm not even talking about ASMR anymore. Just generally. It doesn't really annoy _me_. It's hilarious. Those cosplay girls at Comic Con who dressed exactly like you do right now sound more maturer. The watching of My Fuzzy Unicorn. The way you sprinkle those cutesy words all the time. The pink hair. You sound almost like a baby—"

"Shut up!" I shout at him, getting up. I hold my fists tight. "Shut up! You don't know me! You don't know anything about me!"

Troy backs away from me, putting his hands up. " _Okay, I'm sorry, I take it back,"_ he whispers _,_ hesitantly eyeing the door behind him. _"Just stop shouting."_

Oh, so _, now_ Troy wants to take something back for once in his life, even whisper like he wants to be on an ASMR video with me. Well, it's too late, _lover boy stinky feet!_

"You come into my room! You make me feel sorry for you getting beaten up, but you don't care! You've been nothing but a rude, stupid-head, dicksplash, dummy since you came over! You have to ruin everything!"

I've made Troy back off to the side of the door. Dad opens it.

"Molly, what's going on?" Dad asks, holding the handle.

"It's just someone that's making me upset...online," I reply.

Troy is right next to Dad, holding his breath, with only the door hiding him from view.

Dad notices my opened up laptop but not Troy. "You know those people aren't real," says Dad. "All those people who type that garbage wouldn't dare say that to your face. Okay? Just get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you today."

"Okay," I reply.

"By the way, happy birthday, mija."

"Gracias, Daddy."

He closes the door.

Troy collapses on the carpet relieved, and from the looks of it, really exhausted.

* * *

 **My comfy beauty sleep has disfigured into an ugly duckling-ed wake up call.** I've just peeped my eyes open. Every single Sanchez is leaning over at me. **  
**

"Surprise!" My family shout down at me together.

"Hey!" I say, pulling my cover over myself. "What's going on? Where's Troy?"

"Who?" Some of my family members go.

They look around amongst themselves like I'm expecting him as some guest. It seems like all sight of Troy is gone. He must have sensed trouble and bolted.

Mom turns to me. "We couldn't wait, so we got the whole family here."

She's right that she has the whole family in my bedroom. Dad. Grandma and Grandpa. My cousins. My aunties and uncles. But that's not entirely true. Ricky and Carlos aren't here to help spook me awake.

"Great," I reply, trying my best to make my smile seem genuine.

My family leave my bedroom. Dad kisses my forehead before he follows the rest of them. Mom is the last Sanchez standing.

"Come downstairs for your birthday breakfast when you're ready, mija," Mom says, by the door, as she closes it behind herself.

I smack back down on my pillow. I take it out from behind my head and smother my face with it. My scream is muffled. Everyone's moving so loudly downstairs. I don't think they would be able to hear me anyways.

I force myself up. Pulling open my-drapes-that-don't-match-the-carpet, I let the sun shine on my face. It _is_ my day today. My quinceañera. I've been waiting for this for ever and ever. Probably since I was old enough to know what a quinceañera even was.

I head to the bathroom. It's closed. This is not a good start. I knock on it.

"Hey, I need to use the bathroom," I say, knocking on it softly by urgently.

My grandma answers back that she's using it. I sigh and lean on the side and wait. After a minute or so, Grandma opens it.

"Oh, Molly, mira a ti, has crecido tanto, (Oh, Molly, look at you, you've grown up so much,)" Grandma says, stroking my hair.

"Gracias, Grandma," I reply, moving towards the bathroom.

Grandma stops me with a hug. "Tienes tu vestido listo? Oh, ya has encontrado un chico a la fiesta? Quieres que te ayude? (Have you got your gown ready? Oh, have you already found a boy to the party? Would you like me to help?)"

"No ahora, (Not right now,)" I reply, as chipper as I can.

But I'd like a piss this morning though.

Grandma gives me a final hug and a kiss as she gingerly makes her way downstairs. I ignore my urgency to piss for a second. I watch Grandma as she holds on to the staircase for support. I shouldn't of acting so hastily. She just wants to see me happy. I go towards the bathroom.

An arm blocks my path. It's my other half. My super evil twin. Ricky.

"Shotgun bathroom," Ricky says, his whole arm pretty much in my face.

"You should be nice to me," I reply, pulling his arm away.

"No I don't," Ricky goes, taking his arm back to guarding the bathroom door again. "I'm your elder, you sorta have to respect me."

I hate that he's right about being older. Especially how at every opportunity Ricky has to constantly remind me of the fact that he was born nine seconds earlier than me. Making _him_ technically the older brother and _me_ , the baby sister.

"Let me use the bathroom," I say.

"I don't see your name on it."

"You would see it if you'd take your hand away from it."

"What? You think I'm _that_ stupid?"

"Si. Yes. You'd be right."

Carlos, my actual big brother, comes out from his bedroom. He makes his way to us with a yawn. Walking around me and pulling Ricky's arm away from the door, putting it behind his back to restrain him. He uses the bathroom ahead of the both of us. Ricky feels his arm looking back at me.

Carlos comes back once he's finished. He takes a second to look over at Ricky and me.

"Happy birthday, sis," Carlos says, with a straight face.

"Thank you, Carlos," I reply.

He makes a tired nod back at me. He trudges back to his room.

Ricky turns back at him. "Hey, did you forget something?" Ricky goes.

He closes his door in response. I seize the moment and spin myself right inside the bathroom. Ricky takes a second to realize what I've done. I stick my tongue out and blow a fart noise at him.

After I've finished freshening myself, getting dressed and everything, I go towards the stairs.

My brothers have waited for me. They rush to the stairs. Once I'm by it, they each put their arms out for me like I'm a princess. I give them a curtsy. I know they're playing around and being sarcastic, but it's still nice of them. Sorta defeats the purpose of whatever Ricky was trying to do earlier.

I head to the kitchen. Mom's made my favorite breakfast. Pancake cut in swirls with strawberries.

I can't reach my plate. I'm bombarded with kisses. My tiny cousins pull me by the arm and take me away to their dolls.

Ricky stuffs his hands in his pockets. "It's my birthday too," Ricky says, taking a seat, with no one acknowledging him. "But you don't see _me_ having a big celebration for it."

Mom hugs Ricky. "Happy birthday, mijo," she says to him. "But you have to understand Molly's day is more important."

"What a jip," Ricky moans.

Grandma kisses and hugs Ricky. "Es un día para las niñas, (It's a day for girls,)" Grandma lectures to him. "Quieres ser una chica como Molly? (Do you wanna be a girl like Molly?)"

"Uh-huh," Ricky replies, pinching a strawberry from my plate.

I leave my younger cousins and sit by the family table. "Ha!" I say at Ricky. I lean towards Mom. "Look Mommy, Ricky can't speak Spanish."

"Yes I can," Ricky goes.

"Go on then."

"Okay then," Ricky starts. He closes his eyes and thinks in deeply. "Necesito hacer jumprope con tus pechos caídos, (I need to do jump-rope with your saggy breasts.)"

Grandma and Granddad both yell, "Oh Dios mío!"

Dad narrows his eyes at Ricky. "Do you even have any idea of what you said?" Dad asks, sitting at the end of the table.

Carlos grins saying, "and you wonder why _you're_ not getting a quinceañera."

Dad taps me on the shoulder and ushers me to the side. We're alone by the foot of the stairs. Only Bruiser is with us, but he wouldn't be able to understand what we're talking about anyway.

"Molly?" Dad asks, rubbing his mouth, looking fidgety. "How well do you know your escort for today?"

"Oh," I reply, stretching my arms behind my back. "He's a good friend."

"That's all, right?" he asks me. I nod. "Because I don't want you dating yet."

"That's the whole point of a quinceañera, Daddy. You're giving me away like a wedding. I'm ready now."

"But _I'm_ not ready, mija."

"Okay, I understand," I say with a sigh. "I'll just ask Mom."

I walk back inside the kitchen.

Dad starts to say something but he gives up.

One of my tiny cousins dangles a doll at me. "Molly is the baby," she says, grinning.

Aunt Natalia says, "for a couple more hours until she'll start womanhood."

Dad comes back in the kitchen. "She's growing up way too quick," he says.

Grandma holds me from around the chair. "Molly, bebé, nunca serás demasiado viejo para conseguir smoochs de smooch, (Molly, baby, you'll never be too old to get smooch smooches,)" Grandma says, slobbering my cheeks.

Mom says, "You're still gonna be our little mija, aren't you?"

This is too much.

"I'm gonna take Bruiser for a walk," I say, stepping away from the table and abandoning my breakfast.

I hold on to Bruiser's collar and get him away from his dog house from under the stairs. I put my pink roller blades on as I leave through the door.

* * *

I needed to get out. Bruiser leads the way through the sunshine. I roller blade alongside him. He wants to go the park. Chasing after a few birds and other little animals like that, he finds a tree to go on. He looks back at me as he goes toilet. _Ugh!_ With his tongue out, barking, he's lifting his leg up and looking right at me. I look away. He barks louder until I stare back. He's still looking right at me. So gross. Why does he have to look right at me like that? Now that I think about it, he's had an easier morning than I did. He wasn't scared awake. He got to go toilet with no evil twin stopping him. He doesn't have every Sanchez in southern Arkansas treating him like a baby. He's only six.

He runs through the park. Coming back up to me, he holds a long stick and drops it by my feet. I pick it up. He barks back at me in response. I throw the stick as far as I can. All excited and stuff, he chases in full pelt after it. Repeating himself, he returns back to me with the stick. I rub and pet him. I wanna roller blade away and do something else but he nudges the stick by my hand again. Taking it, I drop it back down on the grass. How long does he expect me to keep doing this? He goes for the stick and nudges it back in my hand like its make or break for him.

I _so_ want him gone. I turn left and right to see if anyone's looking. Picking up the stick, he gets amped up again. You want this huh? I roll on my blades and mimic athletics by throwing that stick like a javelin. I'm surprised at how far I even get it away. He chases after it. I turn around and roller blade away. I exit the park. Its not the right thing to do, but I'm not gonna lie to myself that I still want him.

I go inside Kelso's corner store. If anyone's gonna cheer me up, it's gonna be Gus. I can hardly even get my bearings. There are so many kids in here. Oh gosh. It's like my kitchen all over again. I try my best to get to the sour patch section. I wave at Gus and Troy.

"Hey guys!" I say.

I don't think they're hearing me. They're each serving two or so kids at a time. I pick up my angel dust pixie sticks and join the line. After a while, I finally reach the counter. I smile at them.

Gus' eyes almost bulge out at me. "Molly!" Gus squeals. "When did _you_ get here?"

"Just now, I guess," I reply, moving to the side once I've payed. I've left my Jamàcamon pet necklace on the recharge port. I wedge back in the line to retrieve it and pay for it, putting it around my neck. "So, Gus, my whole family was in my bedroom this morning. Can you believe that? I was like—"

"Could we do this later at the ceremony," Gus replies, giving me back my change. He serves the next kid beside me. "We're kinda swamped right now."

"Oh, yeah, I can for reals see that, but, why don't we just go out and do something?"

"Because I'm busy. With work."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Can't. I've got work all day that day."

"What about the day after that?"

"I've got my wild screaming woodchuck scouts with Mikey."

Troy turns over at Gus. "Don't we get off in an hour or so to get ready for later?" he asks Gus. "You can see Molly, then."

I rattle my fingers on the counter. "Yeah, like I said," I say, agreeing with Troy.

Troy's face is almost as bad as yesterday. The shiners are still blue-y and red. Like his two eye pupils.

"I'm hanging out with Teresa," Gus says back at Troy.

"Teresa?" I ask him. "Whose Teresa?"

"She's one of my good friends from elementary school," Gus replies, helping a customer beside me. "I've been spending the summer time with her, since, I dunno, since always."

"Gus," I gasp. "I didn't know you had this whole other second life."

"You never ask me."

I roller blade away. Gus isn't following me. Okay. I've gotta be a good friend. I can't just pull him away from his job all the time.

I leave Kelso's. I stay outside the store. Slowly sipping my sticks trying to catch Gus' eye contact through the glass. He doesn't look back. Only Troy notices me and makes a few eyebrow raises.

I trudge my way through to the Townsedge mall. I can't explain it, but for some reason I'm pulled towards the upstairs part. I'm wondering around until I find myself gliding into Edgy Eddie's Sneak and Snoop Shop. It's a store with everything that matches the name of it. Binoculars. Cameras. Tripod thingys.

There's just one man behind the counter. He has grey hair tied into a pointy tail.

"Are you Edgy Eddie?" I ask him.

"That's what they call me," he replies, adjusting his glasses. "Can I help you?"

"I'm just looking," I reply, peering through the see-through glass. "I need to kinda know what someones doing."

"Spying."

"No just, hanging out with someone but from a far, without them knowing that I'm there."

"So, spying," Eddie says, bluntly. "Let me show you something." He opens up one of the cases. He takes out a small helicopter thing. "This is a state of the art Ghost Phantom Metal Gold edition drone."

"I don't want any more toys, thank you," I reply.

"Toys? This is sophisticated hardware that can do everything from taking photos, shooting video and spying your little boyfriend without him seeing you."

"I don't think I can afford it, so—"

"Ever heard of rental?" he says. He moves away from the counter and looks me up and down. "Now, I think your hair and those rollers are dead giveaways. I've got something for that."

"Really?"

"We're just scratching the surface, little lady."

Edgy Eddie helps me find some useful spy equipment.

I return straight back to Kelso's, with my shopping bag in hand. Maybe it's not so packed anymore. Gus and Troy move for the door. Flipping the store's sign from open to closed. I dart around the corner so they can't see me.

"You know?" Gus says mid-sentence at Troy, locking up Kelso's.

"All right, enjoy your date," Troy says, as he walks away. "See ya later, bud."

"It's not a—yeah, see ya."

Gus walks away on foot. I remain shadow distance and follow him. He's walking through the town. Passed his own home. He goes towards a modest sized home. I stay hidden behind a tree.

Gus knocks on the door. The person on the other side, opens it.

"Hi, Mr Lieutenant Le maize," Gus says. "Is Terese home?"

"You're early," says this older man, who seems to be Teresa's dad. "My sailor's docked in her room."

He lets him in and shuts the door. I gotta know what's going on. I dig in the supplies I got from Edgy Eddie. Trinkle toeing my way to a window that's slightly open a jar, I unleash my little shotgun boom mic, and the headphones. I think I hit the mother-lode. This must be Teresa's room.

I hear two voices from inside.

"So, you think he'll like this?" Gus asks.

"Gary loves to eat grasshoppers," goes a sweet voice. It must be Teresa's. "Those are his favorite's."

What could they be talking about? I bite my lip. I take a little glimpse inside. Teresa's holding a tarantula. _Whoa!_ Is that her pet? I thought having a large prize dog was bad enough.

I listen in as they play some board game called Land and Sea.

"Blue, 7," Gus says.

"Hit," Teresa replies. "You blew up my bomber squadron. Green, 3."

"Miss," Gus replies, "I've learned a thing or two in strategy, you're gonna have to try harder to catch me now. Blue, 8."

"You sunk all my battle ships. You're really good."

"Well, I learned from the best."

They're putting away their game from the sound of it. Exiting the bedroom. I can hear them walking through the house.

"Gus is taking me out to the museum now," Teresa says.

"We'll rendezvous here back in 12 hundred hours, sir," Gus says.

The door opens. I hide again. Gus is letting Teresa come out. She's really pretty, and cute. Her short brown hair has bangs that flow down slightly before her shoulders. Could I be losing Gus? I need to investigate more.

I follow them through town. Gus buys them both an ice cream. I lift my drone in the air and fly it a couple meters above their heads. I can see and hear their conversation from my connected phone.

"I can't wait to go to Thad High this year," Teresa says, holding her ice cream. "You could show me the ropes."

"Not _actual_ ropes, though," Gus replies, "like jump rope, cause Yope sorta got confused with that once."

Teresa giggles. I chuckle too. Gus and Teresa look back at where that came from. I stay hidden behind the ice cream truck. Ricky wanting to jump rope my Grandma's saggy breasts came to mind.

A guy with a gang of cronies come around. They all look at me eye-ing me up, and whispering. Their leader steps forward at me.

"I'm Chucko, you?" he asks me, as his friends big him up from behind.

I don't say anything.

"Yo! Sweet lips, are you deaf?" Chucko asks me.

I'm trying to listen in on Gus and Teresa. I'm losing them.

Chucko turns towards his friends. "She ain't even that cute, anyway," he says.

He taps on the ice cream van. His friends follow him. A few of them nudge their arms into me as they leave.

"Yoink!" Chucko says, taking Teresa's ice cream away from her, as he walks away with it.

"Hey, that's mine!" Teresa says.

"Ha! _Was_ ," Chucko says, chuckling with his friends.

Gus stands up. "Give that back!" Gus yells with his fists clenched.

His friends smirk. "Don't be a hero, dweeb," says one of Chucko's friends.

"Yeah," Chucko agrees, licking her ice cream. "You're gonna get yourself mollywhopped in-front of your little girlfriend."

Gus walks up to Chucko. Teresa tries to pull him back, but he takes his hand away from her grasp. He goes up to Chucko's face. Chucko grabs Gus' shirt. Taking his hand away, Gus restrains him putting his hand behind his back. Chucko drops Teresa's ice cream. His friends rush in. One by one Gus restrains them. I hear a few shoulders and funny bones crack. All four of them roll around on the ground. Gus grabs Chucko's arm again and leads him back to Teresa. He makes him apologize to her. Once Gus lets go, Chucko runs away, but in funny way, his arm is all floppy, I think it got dislocated.

"How'd you learn to do _that?_ " Teresa asks.

Gus shrugs. "It's just self defense is all," Gus says. "I forget I can do that sometimes. _Duh._ Mr E taught me two simple moves to disable any bully any time any place."

I follow them into the museum. I swap my roller blades for some black shoes. Put on a black wig over my pink hair, with shades on. I'm totally in incognito.

They walk around the exhibit together. Teresa is grasping on Gus' every word. I'm finding out his snake died, and that he even had a snake. I'm deathly scared of those type of things. I thought Gus would be too. She has her arm around his as they point and discuss the different things on display. He knows his stuff. Some people in the public and tourists are following Gus around as if he's the tour guide.

They sit on a bench together.

I take a seat across from them with a newspaper with eye holes cut out, and pretend to read it.

"Thanks for taking me out today, Gus," Teresa says.

"My pleasure, really, I mean, you saw that rotting mummy corpse, that was awesome," Gus replies.

"There's no boys like you in my school."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she says, scooting up closer to him. "You're smart, funny and you always stand up for me. You didn't have to get in a fight. It was only ice cream."

"I did. No one messes with my best friends. You can bring an army and that won't stop me."

Teresa kisses Gus on the cheek. They make their way out. I put my newspaper down. I've never seen this side of Gus. It's always me me me when I'm hanging out with him.

I walk back outside. I take my shades off and stand by the side.

Someone I know walks up to me. It's Mikey. He looks at me suspiciously. He's holding some Floppy burger takeaway bag, it must be something from the breakfast menu.

"Don't I know you?" Mikey asks me, screwing his eyes in an obscure way. "Have we met?"

I'm still in disguise. I take my wig off and reveal my pink hair.

"Molly?" Mikey asks, somehow looking even more confused. "What are you doing?"

"Making a mistake," I reply. "I sorta snooped on Gus' date he had with Teresa."

"Oh!" Mikey gasps, seeming to understand the situation, maybe even more than me.

"And now that he's with someone else, _now_ I realize that I want him."

"That's how love works, Molly."

"Wait a minute," I say. "Shouldn't you be telling me love is something sophisticated, mysterious, or just anything less simpler than that?"

Mikey shakes his head. "I like to spew out poetically whenever I can, but even then, love isn't really that complicated," he replies.

* * *

I'm back with the pinkness. I trudge back to the park and find a bench to sit on. I take out my phone and relive that beat down Gus inflicted on those bullies. He was so brave. I'm not even one for violence, but he was just so fearless. But then he was sweet and sensitive to boot. Why couldn't I see this in him before?

There's a guy on his bike riding by. Freckles on his cheeks. A red hat revered backwards. It's TJ. He spots me from the corner of his eye and drops his bike on the grass in-front of me. He sits next to me on the bench, and greets me the sweet way like he does with everyone.

"How's your Keen-Ciara going?" TJ asks, putting an arm around the bench. "Everyone's excited."

I don't say anything.

"Are you—?" he starts, he rephrases the question. "Did I say your thingy wrong?"

"Don't be sorry," I reply, with a sigh looking down at the ground. "Don't ever apologize for anything."

"Molly, what's wrong?" TJ asks, leaning down to my eye level.

"Nothing, it's just, um," I say. I stop. There's people running around our bench. "I just think I've been acting jerk-y to Gus."

"What?" TJ asks, unable to hear me.

More people are running around us.

"I think I might like-like Gus!" I shout.

"What?"

TJ can't hear me. No wonder. People are rushing passed us. There's a big commotion in the park. Odder still, these people all have their phones out.

"What's going on?" I ask TJ, holding him close.

"I dunno," he replies. "Let's motor."

We follow where the crowd goes. We guess to each other what we thinks happening. I'm thinking maybe a celebrity has come to our town. TJ thinks maybe a meteorite has fallen to Earth. We're right amongst them now.

I tug on someone's shirt, making that person stop. "What's happening right now?" I ask.

"You don't know?" that person replies, huffing in excitement. "A Snizachu. There's one right here in the park."

TJ turns to us both. "Those are rare aren't they?" TJ asks.

I take my phone out. Launching open my Jamàcamon Now app. I wait for the loading screen. A Snizachu is in close proximity. That random was right. I run with the crowd. TJ hollers at me to wait up. There's so many people. I feel a guy nudge me off balance. I fall on the grass. Feet and legs bash across my head. I'm getting trampled on. I hear TJ call my name, but I can't see him through the rubble. I'm getting pushed around more. I can't get back up.

A loud bark bangs out like a roar. People around me stop. It's Bruiser. He comes to my side growling with menace at all the people around me. They're scared away. Some run away from even doing the Snizachu chase. Bruiser softly nudges me with his nose to help me back up. Once I'm back on my feet, Bruiser woofs at me with his tongue poking out.

TJ runs to my side. "Molly are you okay?" TJ asks.

"Yeah," I reply, brushing dirt off my shirt. "Just a bit sore."

"Whose dog is that?" TJ asks once more.

" _My_ dog," I say, as Bruiser rubs his nose on my legs.

TJ screws his face looking utterly confused.

Bruiser saved me. Even when I ditched him, he still came back to help me. I didn't deserve that. I love him. Screw diamonds, dogs can be a girl's best friend. Bruiser licks my finger. I stare down at my tamagotchi pet dangling on my chest.

I walk to the lake. TJ by my side. Bruiser on the other. I look at my electronic pet. I look at Bruiser. I take off my virtual Jamàcamon pet. I throw it in the lake.

I've kept it alive for six years, and if I kept it for one more year it would have been a world record.

I don't care anymore.

Friends and real pets are more important.

* * *

 **Maddie man-handles my hair with large tugs.** Gretchen and Spinelli watch on. These are the type of people I want up in my bedroom. It knocks me back to the time when they helped undye my hair in the bathroom at school. My make-up hasn't been mentioned or bought up just yet.

Maddie smiles against the mirror at me. "When I'm done with you, you'll look like the friggin' belle of the ball," Maddie says, curling my hair.

"Um, Maddie, are you sure you know what you're doing?" I ask.

"Yeah, why you ask?"

"Because you've been twisting the same hair roller for the past five minutes. I think it's supposed to set or something."

Maddie stops what she's doing. "Oh, right, I'm still trying to remember stuff," she says.

Spinelli takes the hair roller off her. "It's fine, I got it," Spinelli says, taking control of the situation.

Gretchen nods to herself. "Intriguing."

"What's that, Gretch?" Spinelli asks, applying the rollers in my hair, with light strokes of her comb.

"I'm quite taken aback at how proficient you are with this," says Gretchen.

"Have you _seen_ my hair?" Spinelli goes, poking at her shiny straight black hair under her orange hat. "No easy feat."

My hair is done. Well, at least, once everything is taken out, it should elegantly wave around my shoulders. We all head downstairs. Spinelli's mom and my mom are in the kitchen. My white dress is the centerpiece. Mrs Spinelli rushes over to me with a hug. She takes the dress and lays it along my body.

"You're gonna look so adorable in this," Mrs Spinelli says, fluffing the tulle netting end of the dress.

Maddie says, "adorbs."

Spinelli adds, "yeah, majorly adorbs."

Gretchen straightens up her glasses. "Mm-hmm," Gretchen hums too.

I inspect my dress. It's perfect. Although, I kinda want it to be more princess-y. Gretchen suggests I should sew up the the sequins on my dress. She takes the dress to the sewing machine. Mrs Spinelli hands her the materials as Gretchen gets to it with her speedy fingers. I guess, she's treating my dress like anyone of her experiments. Is there anything she can't do?

Maddie turns to me. "And now for the pièce de résistance," Maddie says, holding the makeup in a stabbing motion.

Gretchen moves away from her sewing. "Um, Maddie, why don't we let the Spinelli's do that," she says, taking the lipstick away from her.

"Oh," Maddie says, fiddling with her fingers, unsure on what to do.

Maddie smiles at me in a sorrowful way. I wouldn't have even minded. Maddie's make-up has always looked amazing. Even after her coma. I touch her arm to indicate to her that it's all right. Spinelli and her mom do my make up instead. They're like a tag team. Spinelli curling my eyebrows and giving me cats-eyes. Her mom on the foundation and matching my skin tone. Call me crazy, but does Spinelli even wear make-up? It doesn't seem to matter though, she seems experienced enough.

Spinelli hands me a tube of lipstick to do it myself. They back off and admire their work. I unroll the lipstick and give it a sniff. _Mmm!_ That's funny. It smells of candy. Specifically supercandy. I give it a bigger whiff. _Uuh!_ There's a fruity smell to it. It reminds me of cherry, strawberry and some apricot.

I take a bite out of it. _Hmm._ Not really a taste to it.

Everyone in the room look oddly and freaked out at me.

"What?" I ask, chewing down the lipstick.

* * *

 **We roll in a bright pink limousine.** I step out with TJ as my Chambelan de honor. My white floor-length dress has lace overlays, rhinestone accents and some sequins. Kinda nice to get out. I love having everyone with me, but I did have to branch out from the original eight best friends in order to feel up the numbers. 14 Damas and 14 Chambelans. Gus comes out of the limo with Spinelli. Vince, Mikey and Troy are accompanied with the Ashleys. Maddie is with Geoffrey and Gretchen is with Drake. That's who were in my ride. There's another limo yet to arrive.

We're matching. Not like that sucky uniform we had to wear last year though. All the girls are wearing pink dresses. The boys have smart tuxedos.

Maddie smiles at Spinelli with a big beaming grin.

Spinelli chuckles and points at her. "Not a word," Spinelli warns.

I don't know what Spinelli's going on about. She looks so pretty in pink. As if she was a model in her past life or something.

TJ holds my hands and looks at me. "You look beautiful," TJ says.

Everyone around me nods and agrees with TJ. This is the first time I've seen TJ without a hat on. He looks so handsome.

"Aw, really?" I ask, adjusting my tiara.

Troy is nodding his head at Spinelli at what TJ has just said. Spinelli shakes her head at Troy, then she stretches her head away at another direction.

"Yeah," TJ says. "A blind man could see that."

"Thanks, TJ I—"

Vince puts his hand on my shoulder. "Yeah I pip to that, but how's a blind man supposed to see Molly?" Vince asks at TJ. "He's blind."

TJ turns and faces Vince. "Because blind people usually have to rely on their other senses, and can have better sight than people who can actually see," TJ replies.

"Guys," I say, not wanting there to be a feud right now. "It's all right, you don't need to—"

"You need eyes to see," Vince continues. "Something a blind man kinda lacks."

"Yeah," TJ says, "but doesn't DarkDiablo use his extra senses to fight crime?"

"Yes, if you're talking comic book heroes, real blind people can't see."

"He knows how his girlfriend looks by feeling her face."

"But that's not seeing that's feeling."

"Yeah, that's how a blind person sees, Vince, with their hands."

"Oh, damn. You just dropped some facts right there."

Spinelli goes in between TJ and Vince. "If you two mooses are done quarreling, we can get back to who we're here for," Spinelli says, darting her head at them both. "Molly."

There's Gus. He smiles at me. I return it. I give him a hug and thank him for coming. He looks so different to me now.

I walk over to Maddie and Geoffrey.

"Thanks for doing this, guys," I say. Maddie and Geoffrey take turns to hug me. "It's really old fashioned like that. We're not allowed same sex damas and chambelans."

"It's fine," Maddie says, parting her blonde hair. "I'm going to my new high school with Paige. I'll spend enough time with her there."

Geoffrey smirks at me. "I dunno, Molly," says Geoffrey. "Seeing as we're both gay, it kinda balances itself out."

"No, bungo," Maddie says. "It doesn't."

The other limousine has stopped outside of the church. Ricky and Carlos each pat me on the arm with their girls they've bought with them. Wylie has bought Ashley Q who keeps staring bitterly back at him. Herk with the cheerleader, Robyn. Fingers Malloy and Kumiko have come together. Jimmy and CJ Rottweiller. Deshay and his band partner from Spanish Fleek, and Yope is with a girl from school I don't know too well.

All 30 of us are together. We take group photos with the hired photographer. I take pics with my phone with my best friends, posting them on my Selfiepod.

Everyone enters the church. They find their places to sit. All of my family are there.

It starts. Mom, Dad and my new godparents Mr and Mrs Spinelli lead me down the aisle. My besties are by the front row. All the girls on one side and all the boys on the other.

"Father God," the priest begins, "we gather here today to celebrate the amazing life you have created in Molly. Today we celebrate your transition into womanhood."

I choose a passage from the bible that I'd like to read.

After that, the priest commences the oaths. The priest gives me a bible, a medal and a rosary. Mom and Dad hand me a birthstone and bracelet. A ring is placed on my finger as a reminder that true love waits and I'm now committed to purity. I give an oath in-front of the congregation that I will follow my faith, renewing the vows I made at baptism. My parents and my god parents say their oaths that they will look after me from this day forward.

Grandma and Granddad give me fifteen roses. The priest explains to us that the petals of the flowers represent sweetness, while the stems of the roses represent my strength.

The 14 damas I chose to represent me are all carrying candles. My mom is the last one, making 15. This part of the ceremony is when they each say something about me. Ricky's and Carlos' damas hand me each a candle one after the other. They thank me for being chosen and say that my brother's think that I'm the best sister they've ever had. I'm not sure if that's them really saying it or because I'm their only sister. Yope's partner, Deshay's band partner and Robyn all hand me a candle saying some nice things about me too.

People I know more personally take their turns.

CJ hands me a candle. "Molly, I don't think you know how vital you are to everyone at school," says CJ, being the class president. "You helped in our great stand off. Transforming James Stone into Principle Third and stuff. Your slight of hand you have is similar with how you deal with people. Your calm, together and you never try to hurt anyone's feelings."

I place her first candle in the holder by the alter.

Kumiko comes up next. "Gees CJ, why don't you just marry her?" Kumiko says at her. She turns to me and hands her candle. "Molly Sanchez. You are a very special person, and not even in a slow mentally retarded way. You actually have talent in abundance. You're art is pretty awesome. I try to construct my technology advancements but only if I had your art skill would I be able to totally rule, you know, the world."

I do the same for Kumiko's candle.

The Ashley come up next. All four of them.

"Happy B-day, Molly," Ashley A starts.

"We just wanted to say," Ashley T continues.

"That you're one of our very best friends," Ashley B adds.

"And one of our favorite people."

"Of all time."

"Like, of _all_ time."

That was so thoughtful. They finished each others sentences.

Ashley Quinlan stands on the side, not having been included. "Hey Molly," says Ashley Quinlan. She must have been referred by her name and a letter too I'd imagine. "Thank you for being a really good friend. Even if we just met. Nothing like these three traitors. You're an amazing—"

Ashley A whispers, " _Shut up, Ashley Q,"_ with a wide smile on her face. _  
_

 _"You_ shut up," Ashley Q replies, smiling back. "It's not _your_ birthday. Oh wait, it totally was, like two months and you didn't invite me."

Ashley B whispers, " _You're not in the clique anymore, you know that,"_ with a wide forced smile too. _  
_

"You're just a back-up-leader-yes girl, you should mind you're own business," Ashley Q mutters.

The priest buts in. "Okay that's enough, um, honoring, girls," the priest says.

Maddie steps forward and hands me her candle. "Yep, I think it's a good idea I let Spin take the reins in doing your hair and make-up today. It's on fleek. But you're not just beautiful on the outside you have that in the inside too. That's not an easy thing to pull off. Trust me. I know."

Gretchen comes up next. "Hey Molly," says Gretchen. "I'm really honored that you chose me to represent you today. Never has there been an occasion where I've felt like you've never expressed yourself at the full capacity. I don't think I've had more fun with anyone else. I can forget how important having fun really is."

Spinelli steps up to me. "Moles!" she squeals, in excitement, squeezing my hand. "I'm gonna be honest. Never really thought it would pan out as us being best friends. Especially on that first day at Mr Dude's class when I first saw you with your pink hair. Now you got _me_ wearing pink. Ugh! But seriously though, you're so kind, considerate and sweet, you know? I can't imagine a day without us being together. It's a real honor how you wanted my parents to be your godparents. So I don't just consider us best friends, we're sisters."

I hug Spinelli.

Mom comes up next.

" _Mommy_ ," I whisper to her.

"Mija," Mom replies, holding her candle for me. "I didn't think you had so many lovely friends. But I can't really be surprised. You're always so full and passionate about life. Dad and I are so proud of you. I just want the best for you. We just love you so much."

I take the final candle and make it 15 on the alter.

The priest puts his arms out. "It's important when a woman can look back and enjoy the days and years and times when they were young," he says. "Now as a woman, you can follow the good desires of your heart and analyze your ambitions. Congratulations Miss senorita Molly Florencia Sanchez."

Everyone claps for me.

* * *

Everyone's in reception celebrating the party part of my quinceañera. It's fairy tale themed. A horse and carriage made out of ice. Pillars shaped like castles. Bulbs, the shape of faeries, lit on the sides.

My Dad and I get called to the dance floor. A song comes on, that we both picked. It's Latin folk song that I remember I listening to when I took my first steps as a baby. We slow dance together in the middle as everyone looks on. It's time for the change over. My Dad hands me over to my escort for the night, TJ. We dance for the rest of the song.

We move away from everyone, TJ and I. It's time for us to perform our choreographed dance. The waltz, but a more modern twist to it.

I change into my party dress. My radiant pink frock.

I meet Mademoiselle Pavlova backstage. She's talking to the six male dancers. All my three months of practicing in her Salon For Independent Movement, comes down to this. TJ comes by my side. He's dressed as my prince charming. He hasn't had much practice, but having him as my chambelan is what I've envisioned since the very beginning.

"Theodore," Pavlova says, blowing her strand of hair away from her eyes. "How are steps looking for you?"

"Um, as good as they can be, Mademoiselle," TJ replies.

"You are cute nice boy, but we have other dancers," she says, speaking in her deep accent. "Molly, you can choose from six if you want replacement."

"No," I say, holding TJ's hand. "I have to have TJ with me."

"Okay, very well," she says, strutting her arms away from her waist. "Good luck, everyone. There is no such thing as fear. It's nothing like old country. In Soviet Russia the waltz dances with you!"

We step out. The light shines on us seven. TJ's gonna be included during the middle. The music starts. We're in our poses. We swerve with the music. Meeting all our hits and moves. I get spun around in a twirl. The dancers lift me up into their arms. It's TJ's turn to join in. He makes hard work of the steps. We hold hands, he spins me around and pulls me back in again. Our footing gets mixed up. I fall on my backside. Everyone gasps. I burst out in laughter. TJ picks me back up. We improvise everything else with goofy moves. Pavlova on the side shakes her head with a smile. Mom and Dad join in. This is the part where they remove my shoes and replace them with heels. It symbolizes growth, responsibility as I'm physically stepping up in society.

Everyone claps for us.

I move back to my friends who congratulate TJ and I. There's treats on the table, bizcochito cookies, sweets, chips and of course my birthday cake. All the party cups are in a tea party style, made of porcelain. The table itself has a long tutu underneath.

Gus is further away. He bought Teresa with him.

Troy comes up to me packing his fists. "Aye Molly," says Troy. "You know what time it is?"

I don't say anything. I'm too busy looking at Teresa and Gus.

"Birthday beats!" Troy goes.

"It looks like _you've_ already took them for me," I reply.

All of my gang of friends go, "Ow!", as they notice Troy's beaten face.

Vince slaps my shoulder. "Molly, where did _that_ come from?" Vince gasps in disbelief.

"Yeah," Troy says, looking shocked with wide and still very much bruised eyes. "Too soon."

I've never been jelly of anyone before. Envy is not a cute color. You don't see many princesses wearing green dresses. Too icky. I need to diffuse the situation. Not get locked on.

Gus has left Teresa for a second. I move over to her. She's circling around the snack table eating the corn-chips. Ignoring all of the salsa. She's taking handfuls of chips. I think she likes corn-chips as much as I like sweets. Which is a lot.

"Hi," I greet to her.

Teresa sputters something with her mouth full. "Oh sorry," she says, chewing down the chips. "I really like corn-chips."

"I can see that, so, um, did Gus bring you?"

"Yeah."

"Are you two dating right now?"

Teresa giggles at me. "I don't think my dad would allow it, and he _likes_ Gus," she replies.

Carlos calls me over. I walk up to him. He asks me how everything is first before he gets down to it.

"I'm glad that TJ was your escort," Carlos says. "You just have to look at a guy like me to know how terrible guys can be." He waves his hands. "Actually, there's someone else who would have been all right for you."

"Who?" I ask.

"That skinny, blonde guy over there with the glasses," Carlos says, nodding his had at that boy's direction.

"Gus?" I ask, noticing it's him. "Why?"

 _"Why?"_ Carlos replies, mimicking me. _"_ Your chambelan, me and Ricky wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him. He spun that truck, he hijacked, 360° in front of three patrol cars. From the inside, I hear the whole breaking us out was _his_ idea. That skinny twerp is amazing. I mean, he's not good enough for you, but you get what I'm saying."

Carlos nudges my shoulder and moves through the party.

I had no idea Gus did all that, but what's new. I'm finding out more and more about Gus, that I didn't know before.

Everyone gathers around me as I open up my presents. TJ's got me a Femme Fatale comic book, signed by Lupin Larry Rogan. Spinelli got me a pink snap-back hat, Vince got me new roller blades, Gretchen got me paint equipment, Gus got me an assortment of sweets and Maddie bought me the complete edition of My Fuzzy Unicorn box-set, uncut edition. The Ashleys have all bought me expensive clothes, makeup and perfumes. Grandma has got me a doll, the last doll, she calls it. It's a little a porcelain doll that looks just like me. Pink hair and a white flowing dress. It's supposed to be my last toy I'm ever supposed to have as I enter childhood to adulthood. A symbol of passage. What am I supposed to do with all my stuffed dolls in my bedroom?

I sit on the side with all my gifts. TJ comes over and sits next to me.

I look over at Gus and Teresa. "How can he be hanging around with her all the time?" I ask.

TJ notices my gaze. "Well, they _have_ known each other for quite a long time," TJ says, "and, you _did_ sorta tell him he had a million in one chance with you."

"It was a gazillion," I say.

"Ouch."

A glass sound echoes as it's being hit.

My Dad's making a toast. "Hola everyone," Dad begins. "I just want to thank you all for coming to my mija's quinceañera. I'd like to thank the Tomassions for sponsoring the event. My wife and I have always called Molly the miracle child. We didn't expected twins with her and Ricky. By the way, we've been too harsh on our son Ricky, who deserves some recognition too. So everyone say a hip hip for Ricky whose turned 15 today also."

We make an hooray for Ricky.

Dad continues. "So, as I was saying, the miracle child. Look, I've always wanted sons, all right? I'm just being honest."

TJ, sitting next to me, gives me a look.

"But Molly changed that," Dad says. "I never would have thought I'd want a daughter so much. She's truthful, bright, each and everyday when she comes down that spiral staircase I'm the proudest Dad in the world."

We all applaud for my Dad's speech.

It's coming to a close.

Maddie comes up in-front of us all. She says it's time for her to go and live in Minnesota. All nine of us have a big group huddle, and then individual hugs. All the girls are tearing up except for Spinelli.

I get to hug Maddie last. "I'm gonna miss you so much," I say to her.

"Me too," Maddie replies, letting go of our hug. "Never change, Molly. Please."

"Maddie—"

"Seriously, seriously, seriously, do not change," Maddie says, wiping my tears and putting her hand in my hair. "I mean, you can't have your hair pink forever, but just keep being you, okay?"

"Okay," I reply, sniffing up my runny nose.

Maddie walks away. She turns around.

" _Bye,_ " Maddie says, sputtering it out almost in a whisper.

Spinelli runs up to Maddie. She hugs and kisses her for a minute. I can't hear what they're saying to each other. She lets her go.

Maddie's gone.

I've only known Spinelli for a year.

But.

I know for a fact, Spinelli never ever does that.

* * *

 **'I'm on my way,'** is what I text back to Spinelli. **  
**

I peer back at my reflection in the mirror. I brush my brunette hair with pink streaks. My room is so spacious these days after selling all my stuffed dolls and toys. It's been a week into womanhood. With one more check in the mirror, I pop on a pink snap-back hat, and leave my room.

"I'm going!" I say to Mom, as I go down the spiral staircase.

"Have fun!" Mom replies, further away in the house.

I stop at the door. I go back inside to see her.

"Um, mom, thanks for the quinceañera," I say. "I know you and Dad had to work so how to afford it and—"

"Don't be silly," Mom replies, interrupting. "It was very important to us as it was for you." She smiles. I walk back to the door. Mom comes after me. "Oh, and Molly?"

"Yeah?" I reply, turning around.

"Your father and I had a chat. Okay, well, I talked and he listened. We've agreed that you can have a boyfriend—"

"Yes!"

"Only if you agree not to rush into anything, and that you introduce him to us when you do," she finishes.

"Thanks mom," I reply, as I hug her tight.

I make may way out of the house. Taking the bus, I get to the train station. Spinelli, Gretchen, TJ, Vince and Troy are there outside waiting for me. They all look restless.

Spinelli puts down her arm holding her phone, staring begrudgingly at me. "On your way, huh?" Spinelli asks.

"Don't hate because I had to make myself look pretty," I reply, patting my new hair.

"Don't worry, I ain't," she replies.

It's been a week and all of Troy's bruises have faded. But his eyes are still blue and red. I notice something else too. His shirt. He's wearing a 'Gus is missing' T-shirt in a black and white style with some color. It's nice obscure art.

We walk inside the train station together. We use our tickets and go through the machines. Troy vaults over them. A guard notices. Troy chucks his ticket over at Vince and he uses Troy's ticket instead of his own. Vince waves both of the tickets at the guard's direction, so that he settles down.

Troy smiles at Spinelli when he says, "we ran out of Ashleys to date, but I'm positive TJ would have had a hand in it."

Vince nods at that, as we walk down the slope to the train rails. "It does have it's privileges now, I gotta admit," Vince says.

The Ashley's have bought the whole theme park for the day. I don't know which Ashley specifically, it could be either one of them. I think only 300 or so teenagers are allowed in. _Today's gonna be insane!_

Gretchen ponders at Troy's chest. "Fascinating shirt, Troy," Gretchen says, commenting on it like it's an art piece, which it is. "What's the inspiration?"

"Dude's my best friend," Troy spells out slowly. "What else is there to say?"

Spinelli sighs at Gretchen resting on a post as we wait for the train. "Inside joke, Gretch," Spinelli says. "I'll fill you in during the train ride."

Gretchen says, "it hits me as extremely ironic considering we haven't heard from Gus and Mikey in two or so days."

I tilt my head at the shirt design too. "Where'd you get it done?" I ask Troy.

Troy turns away from me and slaps Vince on the chest. "Aye, V!" Troy goes, "you won't guess who I went to, to get this shirt done?"

"Try me," Vince replies, lifting his eyebrows.

"Your old lady."

TJ puts an arm on Troy. "How'd you swing something like that _this_ time?" TJ asks.

"I had a word," Troy replies, tapping the side of his nose and winking.

I haven't seen Gus since my quinceañera. He's such a busy guy nowadays. Almost as if he's more busy in summer vacation than he is during school time. Now that Mom and Dad say I can date, Gonzo World is the perfect time and place to tell him how I feel. We can be a couple when school starts tomorrow.

TJ tugs at Troy's shirt. "The shirt isn't lying," TJ says, smirking. "Gus _is_ missing."

Spinelli, with crossed arms, nudges me. "Gus," she starts, "have you seen him?"

The train is coming.

"Nah," I reply. "But if I _did_ , I woulda told him I love him."

**[PLAY SONG "Neon Indian - Deadbeat Summer"AT THIS POINT]**


	18. Fear and Loathing in Gonzo World

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 1

Narrator POV (Everyone)  


* * *

A long time ago in a fandom far, far away...

 **RECESS**

 **EPISODE XVI**

 **THE RETURN OF DR SLICER**

Thaddeus T. Third V has vanished.  
In his absence, the nefarious B.O.E  
has risen from the ashes of the, like,  
totally boring school district and will  
not rest until every teen conforms to  
their unusual good behavioral standards.

With help from THE GANG, TJ Detweiler  
leads a brave pranking hacktivist  
vigilante group of PSEUDONYMOUS.  
He is desperate to keep his friends  
close and his enemies closer.  
In his attempt to bring justice to the  
school, the gang have swatted the  
corrupt and manipulative Tad White.

TJ has been made principal of Thad  
High for the first day of school.  
However, it was agreed that the  
ex-superintendent will put  
forward a replacement of his  
choosing on that second day, that will  
no doubt be as vindictive and as evil  
as he was. Enjoying the last day of  
summer, the gang feel that eerie  
sense of dread loom around the corner...

The opening crawl disappears as it slides through space. The black void polka-dotted with stars. There's an object floating by itself. Something red and round. It's a kickball. The same ball that Vince LaSalle kicked five years ago in Third Street school. It has stayed forever suspended in space. Just beyond it there's another spherical object. The light that beams out from it, shadows that red kickball. There's life coming from it. It's Earth. Closer to Earth, passed the satellites sending signals, rocks drawn in by the gravitational pull, down from the crowd of clustered clouds, through the clearer blue sky, down to the dry desert, there's a convertible speeding across the road with the roof off. It's Gus Griswold driving his best friend Mikey Blumberg.

They are somewhere around California, on the edge of the desert, as the candy begins to take hold. Gus is wearing a bucket hat, sunglasses sleekly beneath it, as he sucks on a candy cigarette. Mikey sits in the passenger seat, letting the humid air blow through his wide open unbuttoned shirt, exposing his belly.

"I feel a bit lightheaded," Gus says, steering the wheel slightly as he keeps the car straight. "Mikey, maybe you should drive."

Suddenly, unbeknownst to Mikey, Gus could now hear a terrible roar all around them, as the road begins to fill up with what looks like bright unicorns, all galloping, and rushing, and shimmyconga-ing around the car.

"Holy moly!" Gus hollers, swerving the car to give them space to run. "What are these gosh darn animals?"

"Did you say something?" Mikey asks, still looking straight ahead.

"Hmm?" Gus replies. "Never mind. It's your turn to drive."

 _No point in mentioning these unicorns,_ Gus thinks. _Poor Mikey'll see them soon enough._

Gus slows down their ride and drifts it to the side of the road. He takes care exiting the vehicle to make space for the unicorns. For the time being, at least to Gus, they've gone away. He makes his way to the back of the car. He opens up the trunk. Their candies are revealed.

They have two bags of Pork-bakey flavored chips, ten sheets of high-powered lick-able wallpaper, a salt shaker half-full of sherbet powder, lolly dippers, a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, squealers, gassers. Also, a cooler of frappe milkshake, a liter of H2WHOA with a touch of fruit, a case of Martian Piss sodas, a pint of raw sour blast, two dozen cases of Enamelshreds. Not that they needed all that for the trip. But when you work at Kelso's corner store, and you get locked into a serious candy collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

The only thing that really worries Gus is the sour blast. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a teenager in the depths of a sour blast binge, and Gus knew they'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.

Gus takes out a sheet of lick-able wallpaper, some sherbet powder and a can of Martian Piss soda. Closing the trunk, he gets in the passenger seat this time as Mikey has moved over to the driver's seat. Only Gus has a full license to drive and Mikey only has a provisional, but as long as Gus is supervising, it's all legal.

Mikey turns on the radio. The news comes on. " _The American Heart Association report says teenagers are at most risk of consuming too much sugar, as it causes hyperactivity, anxiety—_ "

Mikey tunes to Blockhead FM.

"Wild roller coaster, a merry go roooound!" Mikey sings-a-long. "Billboards and posters, a familiar grooound—!"

"Familiar ground, big guy?" Gus asks.

Mikey continues. "We're stood in motion, we're on a highway at the speed of light!"

"Wait until you see these damn unicorns, man," Gus adds.

"Where ever we go there will be love and devotion—!" Mikey's voice trails off.

Mikey drives passed someone. On the side of the road there's a teenage hitchhiker with his thumb stuck out. The boy's dark brown hair is scruffy and he's sporting on glasses just like Gus. It's Menlo. He's stranded in the desert with a suitcase.

Mikey slows down to a stop. "Let's give Menlo a lift," Mikey suggests.

"What?" Gus goes, spinning his head around in horror. "No! Wait! We can't stop here. This is the unicorn state."

Ignoring Gus, Mikey puts the car in reverse and speeds backwards to where Menlo is standing.

"Oh wow!" Menlo goes, running up to them with his suitcase. He gets up to the side of the car. "I never rode in a convertible before!"

"Is that right?" Gus says, peering back at Menlo. "Well, I guess you're about ready then, aren't ya?"

Mikey grins his rosy cheeks up at Menlo. "We are your friends," Mikey says. "We're not like the others, my dear friend. Really."

Gus turns to Mikey. "No more of that nicey nice cutesy talk, or I'll put the cobras on you, understand?" Gus threatens. Mikey laughs back at him as Gus sharply swivels his head back at Menlo. "Get in."

Menlo enters the car. Mikey drives down the desert.

How long can Gus and Mikey maintain their manic minds?

How long before one of them starts raving and jabbering at Menlo?

What will he think then?

Can they trust Menlo?

Menlo ratted them out the first half of the year at Thad high. Also, this is the same desert Troy, Spinelli and Gus almost got stranded on before they saved TJ.

 _Will Menlo make a connection when my best friend starts screaming about unicorns and starts singing to no music, and realize that we're both off our heads on candy, and in no fit shape to be driving?_ Gus thinks. _If so, well then, we'll just have tie him up, and leave him here like hide 'n seek, but on this occasion no one will ever find him. 'Cause it goes without saying that we can't let him go free. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback off duty teacher and the whole B.O.E will run us down like criminals._

 _Jebus Cripes, did I say that, or just think it?_ Gus thinks. _Was I talking? Did they hear me?_ He checks himself in the mirror before spinning his head around at the others who haven't noticed this. He turns to Menlo. "All right, listen. There's one thing you should probably understand—can you hear me? Good. I want you to have all the back story. This is an off-the-wall operation we're on where anything can happen. This is the last day of summer, man. This is really important, gawd damn it! This is a freaking true story!"

Gus taps his can of soda on Mikey's shoulder to listen.

Mikey bellows, "Don't touch me!" He swipes his arms around at Menlo and Gus, swerving the car from side to side.

Menlo moves around in his seat as he clutches his suitcase for dear life.

Gus climbs to the backseat next to Menlo, whilst Mikey is still driving. "Now, now, now," Gus says. "This guy at the wheel is my best friend."

"Um," Menlo goes, slowly panning his head away from Mikey and then Gus. "I know Mikey."

"No, listen," Gus continues. "He's my _best_ friend. He's not just some dork I found in study hall, guy. He's a poet laureate. I think he's probably an activist. It doesn't matter, though, does it? Are you a snitch?"

"No," Menlo replies, frantically shaking his head. "Hell no. I'm okay now. I'm finished with being a hall monitor and following orders and—"

"Good," Gus says, putting his arm around Menlo. "I didn't think so. Because, in spite him being completely useless in a fight, Mikey is extremely valuable to me. Oh, crap. I forgot about the soda. You want some?"

"No."

"How 'bout some sour blast?"

"What?"

"Never mind. All right, let's get right to the heart of this thing. Twenty Four hours ago we were sitting..."

* * *

...in Kelso's corner store at the booth section, drinking Hard Frappe shakes with syrup on the side. Hiding from the brutal reality that summer is over and that the new year of school is just around the corner. They were meeting up and talking about the Wild Screaming Woodchuck Scouts, since Phil got kicked out of scouts for forging his scouting badge, to move next rank from semi-junior whistle-pig to senior woodchuck. It was only them two and Edmond P. Edmonton as their leader left.

"We have as much chance of getting a third party joining us, as us having a full flooded alien invasion next summer," Gus moaned, his head rested on his crossed arms, wearing his scout uniform with Mikey.

"You mean, you _want_ us to have an alien invasion?" Mikey asked.

"No, of course not."

"But we can't just _force_ people to join us," Mikey replied. He pondered for a moment. "We haven't asked any girls, what about Molly?"

"I'm done with her," Gus said, bluntly.

"Gus?" gasped Mikey.

"No, I still wanna be friends with her. It's just that I'm done trying to make her like-like me is all. Spinelli was right. There are other girls out there."

Just as that spilled out of Gus' mouth, three girls appeared outside of the store. One of the girls knocked on the door. Gus and Mikey looked at themselves pensively. Gus stood up knowing that he had to take responsibility of the store. He didn't know whether he was gonna get haggled by a salesman who wouldn't take no for an answer, or an irritable customer who doesn't read that the store is closed.

Gus opened the door. "Sorry, we're closed," he said at the girls.

It's the three Ashleys. Ashley Armbruster, Ashley Boulet and Ashley Tomassion.

"We know," Ashley A said, standing in the middle of the other two.

"Um, if you knew then you wouldn't be wanting to come in," Gus said, as he held on to the door. "Yet, here we are."

Ashley B asked, "are you being cute right now?"

"No, just kinda stating the obvious," Gus said. Mikey came out of the booth, having recognized the voices. "I'm not supposed to let anyone in here outside of opening hours. I've already got Mikey in here so I'm—"

Ashley A said, "just move over, you fashion reject."

She pushes her way inside the store as Ashley B followed her.

Ashley T walked in last. "Mikey's here?" she asked Gus. She noticed Mikey. "Hi."

"Hi," Mikey replied.

Mikey and Ashley T shared a moment just staring and smiling at each other.

Ashley A looked over at everyone. "Okay, now that we're all caught up with the hellos," she started. She turned her attention back on Gus and Mikey. "I wanna catch you boys up with the four-one-one. My Daddy has finally come up with the present he promised me, and to cut to the chase, I wanna invite you two to Gonzo World. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Gus asked.

Ashley T smiles. "Tomorrow," she replied.

Mikey said, "that's very sweet and thoughtful of you, Ashley."

Ashley B added, "oh that's nothing, Mikey. We have the whole theme park reserved and only our like, closest of closest friends are invited."

Gus asked, "the whole park just for us?"

Ashley A replied, "that's right, everyone from school, and a few girlfriends from my Etiquette Chapter, but you don't have to worry about that."

"So, when are we leaving?" Gus asked.

"Um, excuse me?" Ashley A asked back, blinking her stylized eye lashes like she doesn't understand the question.

"Yeah," Mikey chimed in. "How are we getting there together?"

All three Ashleys laughed at them.

Ashley B raised her eyebrows. "Uh, you're _not,_ " she replied.

Gus asked, "How are we supposed to get there?"

Ashley A replied, "Sorry, that's like, not our problem." She fluttered her fingers at them. "Toodles."

Ashley A left the store with Ashley B following behind her in the similar fashion they had when they entered the store.

Ashley T had stayed behind. "Just turn up and say your name when they ask you," she explained. "It'll be on the guest list."

Ashley A called the other Ashley to come outside.

"Late," Ashley T added, as she left the store, closing the door behind her, making the store bell ring.

Gus and Mikey were by themselves again.

"What do you think?" Gus asked.

"Sounds like fun," Mikey replied. "As your best friend, I advise you to rent a car with no top. And you'll need the sherbet powder. Blows our meeting though."

Mikey seemed to always refer to Gus as 'best friend' no matter how trivial it sounded when they assigned each other goals to set in scouts. They had a sugar rush which, at that particular moment, made them refer to each other as 'best friend' way more than what was necessary.

"Yeah?" Gus asked.

"We're gonna have to forget about finding a new scout and we're gonna have to get supplies," advised Mikey.

"From where?"

Mikey waved his hands around the store that they're standing in.

Gus undone his scout scarf woggle tie. "Well, why not?" Gus said, "I mean, if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing right, _right?_ This is the American teenager's dream."

Gus lead the way as he went back home.

Once home, Gus retrieved all the money he made during the year that he'd stored in his shoe box. They ventured back to the corner store where he emptied out his money. Almost one thousand dollars worth. It never occurred to Gus how much he'd saved even though he had been working so hard on it. With the store to his mercy, Gus bought every piece of candy, drink, and over-the-counter untested sweet he could. Serving himself at the cash register.

They soon departed Kelso's and made their way to the Townsedge mall. Mikey got them both Acapulco shirts. Gus buying himself prescription shades and a bucket hat.

Hours later in the day, Gus rented a Cadillac Eldorado convertible. Out of the car lot, Gus reversed the car in full speed, with the salesman running after him with the car warranty still to sign. Mikey began to add their supplies in the backseat.

"You just backed over a 2-foot curb without slowing down," the car salesman said, holding on to the side of the convertible. "What were you going, uh, oh, I don't know, 50 miles an hour backwards?"

"I'm okay," Gus replied, as he looked more occupied with the interior of the car.

"That's not what I meant—"

"I can test out the transmission that way and see how good condition it's in despite it's mileage."

The car salesman pauses and has a look at Gus. "You seem a little young to be renting a car."

"Thanks," Gus replied, as Mikey went in the passenger seat. "I think I get it on my mom's side."

"You two aren't doing anything you shouldn't be, are you?" the car salesman asked, as he dangled the contract in-front of Gus.

"Not us," Gus replied, as he put the car in first. "We're good kids."

Gus drove off with Mikey out of the car lot.

"You forgot to sign the warranty!" the car salesman said, as he ran after them and then gave up. "Goddamn teenagers!"

By the end of the day, Gus and Mikey had fully stocked the car with everything they needed. They decided to spend the rest of the night by the lake and use what was left of the money on sweets to eat. Their trip was different. It was an indication that the best times of their teenage years were before them, and all the fantastic possibilities that can only be experienced in these years is when they take their chances and give all of themselves, with nothing left behind. That was the true American way. They had to fight for the right to have fun...

* * *

...and we're just bursting with that, my guy," Gus goes, next to Menlo in the back seat.

"That's right!" Mikey says, driving onward in the car.

"My best friend understands that, despite his opinion on anti-war," Gus says, nodding at Mikey's direction and turning to Menlo. "But do _you?_ "

Menlo just nods looking freaked out at them both.

Mikey swerves the car to the side of the road. He waves his arms in a panic.

"Oh!" Mikey shouts. "Aah! Ohhhhh! Medicine!"

"What?" Gus asks, way too casually.

"Medicine!" Mikey repeats.

"Medicine? Oh, yeah, medicine!" Gus says. He reaches back to his seat and takes out some sherbet powder. "Right. Right here. Don't worry. My best friend has a bad heart. But we have a cure for it." He hands Mikey the sherbet in his mouth as Menlo looks on. "Here you go. All right, big huff, big huff, big guy." Mikey calms down. "Now for me." Gus huffs some sherbet powder himself.

They sit in silence for a second.

Mikey's calmed down, stretching his neck across at them two. "What the heck are we doing here in the middle of the desert?" he asks. "Somebody call their parents. We need help. We need adult supervision."

Gus doesn't reply.

Mikey slams on the horn. He laughs out in hysterics until he calms down again.

Menlo looks from both of them and sighs. "I don't know how I've got here either," Menlo goes. "I'm coming back home from the most boring family vacation, then the coach breaks down, and the next thing I know, I'm, _like you said Mikey_ , in the middle of the desert looking for help. I had no idea about this Gonzo arrangement. I'm so out of the loop. This has to be a sign. I'm invited after all, aren't I? I've never been invited to anything in my life."

"I'm telling you," Mikey starts, "you can be one of us." Mikey and Gus swap seats again, so now Gus is driving. "Here's your half of the sunshine sweet. Eat it."

Gus takes it. "Nice," Gus replies, placing the candy on his tongue, back on the road again. "How long do I have?"

"As your best friend, I advise you to drive at top speed, or it'll be a miracle if we can get there before you turn into a wild animal."

* * *

Molly Sanchez's pink streaks in her brunette hair shines off the late afternoon sun. She stands all alone in Gonzo World, resting her chin on her crossed arms as she watches a couple play Wack-a-Mole. Spinelli and Gretchen spot her out.

"Hey Molly," Spinelli says, tilting her head. "You wanna ride the Rocky Mammoth?

"No," Molly mumbles.

Gretchen asks, "how about the arcade?"

"Uh-uh," Molly replies, shaking her head.

Spinelli pushes all the candy she has at her. "You want some sweets?" she asks.

"No thank you."

"Gretchen, this is worse than I thought."

Molly's eyes dart at the sweets. She changes her mind. She downs all of Spinelli's chocolate. She opens up the gum drops, munches it all away in speed, twirls all the cotton candy in one whole piece and chomps on it all in one gulp. She then takes Gretchen's cup and sips it all the way down to the bottom. Sighing, she returns back to sulking.

Gretchen blinks holding her now empty paper cup. "You're very welcome, Molly," says Gretchen, "don't mention it."

Spinelli raises her eyebrows. _How can Molly be this unhappy in a place like this,_ Spinelli thinks. _This is why love is more trouble than it's worth._

"He _is_ coming, Moles," Spinelli says. She pats her on the back. "There, there."

"I know he is, you guys," Molly replies, moving her body away from Spinelli. She charges over to Wack-a-Mole where the couple has left. Picking a mallet up, she waits for the game to start and begins smashing the moles down with all her strength. "It's just...uh!...he could...uh!...like-like...uh!...another girl...uh!...by now...uh!"

The Ashleys come over.

"Why are you assaulting the moles?" Ashley A asks.

Molly continues playing. "They're not assaulting me, they're helping me."

"Uh, can you like, clue me in with what the heck you're talking about?"

Gretchen sighs. "Only a bit of confusion," she explains. "Spinelli's nickname for Molly just so happens to coincide with the name of the game she's playing."

Spinelli says, "or smashing."

"Sure Gretchen, but if its like, boy trouble, we can help," says Ashley A.

"No mean to clap-back on you," Spinelli starts. "Pinky swear. But don't you need a _boy_ friend to give _boy_ advice."

Ashley B smirks. "We all have boyfriends, Spinelli," says Ashley B. "Me with Vince, Ashley with Mikey and Ashley with Troy."

"What?" Spinelli asks. She laughs out loud. The Ashleys don't react. Her face straightens up. "Really? You and Troy are together? Oh."

Ashley T looks on. "So, what's the problem...Moles?" she asks.

* * *

Gus rolls into the parking lot with Menlo and Mikey. The night has fallen. The theme park's bright lights are shimmering off the windshield. Menlo rolls off the backseat leaving his suitcase right there in the open. Mikey exits, leaving Gus to walk up to the entrance by himself.

 _Ignore this candy,_ Gus thinks. _Yeah. Pretend it's not happening._

Gus moves up to the girl ticket attendant. "Hi there! Uh. My name? Uh, Gus Griswold! I have my best friend with me," he starts, spilling his words out erratically.

Gus spins around for Mikey and even Menlo, but they're no where to be seen. Nothing but empty spaces and spirals of red ropes around him. The dark night is setting in. The candy is already messing up his conceptions of everything.

"Come on, take the ticket," the girl ticket attendant says, behind the glass.

Gus looks back at her. The girl's face has distorted. Her drawn in eyebrows are arching up demonically. Her frown outstretched like a monsters. Both her nostrils are huffing up steam on the protective glass.

"Come on, take the ticket," she goes, pushing it at Gus. "Take it. Take the ticket."

"I need this, right?" Gus asks, taking the ticket and peering at it from back to front.

"You can come in and out for the next hour."

Gus walks up to the theme park. 'Gonzo World: water park and arcade' hangs over him. The sharp sweet smell of cotton candy and chlorine hits his nostrils. The loud rustle of roller coasters speed above him. He walks into the arcade section. To Gus, the asteroid patterns on the floor are moving and swirling all around the teenager's feet. All the teens around him are talking and laughing in echoes. He bumps into a girl, making her drop her strawberry milkshake. She pushes him away and calls him something. Gus peers down at the spill. The pink slimy residue is spreading all around his feet looking like streaks of blood. All at once the teenagers have turned into aliens. Walking around in green skin. Antennas on top of their heads. Holding arcade joysticks and pressing buttons with their six fingers.

A hand grabs Gus' arm.

It's Mikey. Gus notices Menlo whose next to him.

"Where you wanna go first?" Mikey asks, holding the map of Gonzo World for them three to see.

 _Reload! Action!_ Shots are fired. It's Vince LaSalle and TJ Detweiler. Deep in their first-person on-rails light gun shooter.

TJ has his eyes focused on the screen. "Molly's looking for you," TJ says to Gus.

"Really?" Gus asks. "What for?"

TJ shrugs.

Vince reloads his light green gun by aiming it off the screen. "Don't ask me, lord fancy pants," Vince says at Gus, and then shooting an enemy. "I'm with the monkey."

Vince still recites quotes from old Billy Blaisedell movies. He and Troy Morteza are the only two in their group of friends who still enjoy that type of humor.

Menlo turns to Vince. "How are the rides?" Menlo asks. "I've heard nothing but the best from reviews."

"Menlo?" Vince asks, looking away from what he's doing in disbelief. "You wanna be a cool kid now, huh?"

"I'm trying."

"Boring," Vince says, returning to the shooter.

"I'm sorry?" Menlo asks.

"The rides. They're boring. We're on double figures."

TJ smirks and chuckles. "I've been on the Eviscerator Vroom of Doom twenty one times," TJ says. "I think by the twentieth time the thrill wore off."

"There's just one ride left we haven't tried."

Menlo asks, "what's that?"

"Tunnel of love," Vince replies. TJ and Vince laugh out loud. Their screen flashes 'Mission clear.' "Yeah, I'm gonna go on it later."

TJ drops his pink gun to his side. "Huh?"

"Yeah, man. I'll find Ashley, you know, check it out, see what it's like."

Mikey nods. "Me too," says Mikey. "Everything once, right?"

"If you go now, you can catch T's seminar in Atlantis City on getting girls," Vince says. "You guys pay him yet?" Menlo and Mikey shake their heads. Gus' attention is elsewhere. "You're friends with him, he'll probably let you hear it for free."

Menlo thinks deeply. "I wanna see the rides though, what if it's too long?" Menlo asks.

"It's sixty seconds," Vince replies.

"Oh," Menlo says. He gets ready to go with his map in hand. Mikey leaves the arcade entirely. "Aren't you coming, Vince?"

"Do I need to? I'm dating Ashley B, I think I can skip it, you should make an appearance, Teej."

"What?" TJ screeches, starting a new game without Vince. "No, I don't need—"

"You should start keeping your options open seeing as you're gonna be the principal next year. My big brother says girls love a guy with power."

 _Teej has more game with girls than me without even knowing it,_ Vince thinks. _He could make a killing if he just tried. My girlfriend literally got handed to me at the end of middle school.  
_

TJ abandons his gun, letting it dangle off it's chain. He walks alongside Menlo back to the outside. Gus is along with them, however he's completely succumbed by the sugar. He's walking like a crab person as he serpentine's through the theme park. Teenagers are giving him funny looks.

"Gus are you, all right?" TJ asks him.

Gus doesn't respond as he focuses on walking straight with his tongue stuck out in concentration.

"He's okay," Menlo replies, walking and talking with TJ. "I came to Gonzo World with him. He's just on a very intense sugar rush of sorts."

TJ pauses and takes a moment to think of what to say. "So, Menlo," he starts. "Are you back now? My-first-friend-when-I-was-four Menlo? Or, the-hall-way-monitor-giving-me-detention-slips Menlo?"

"The first one," Menlo replies. "I've given up the hallway stuff. For good."

"I can see you hanging out with us if you really mean what you say."

"That's what Mikey said. Is it really that easy to be in that cluster of friends of yours?"

"Well, there's no hazing ritual if that's what you mean. It's as much as _them_ accepting you as it is _me_. That's not even what I'm afraid of. It's that bad student raging havoc at recess. I know it's still in you. You gonna tone it down this time? Not go cocoa-bananas on us again?"

"I hope so," Menlo replies, as he fiddles around with pills of Ritalin in his pocket.

TJ, Menlo and Gus reach Atlantis City. The water-park part of Gonzo World. One of the largest roller coasters, Typhoon waves where water that splashes, soaking whoever walks by it, is in-front of them. Troy is a safe distance away from the splash zone, surrounded by thirty or so other guys.

"Has everyone chipped in their money for the quick sixty second seminar?" Troy asks at his class. He turns to TJ and Gus who have joined. "Friends are free."

Troy looks at Menlo. He coughs at him with his hand out for him to pay a fee.

TJ puts an arm around Menlo. "He's gonna be part of the gang now, so," TJ explains.

"Hmm, okay," Troy replies, putting his hand away. He turns to Menlo. "Welcome, dude. Manlo, is it?"

"Menlo," corrects Menlo.

"Details, details," Troy replies once more, now standing in-front of everyone. "Dudes! Welcome to Gonzo World."

The bustle of boys quiet down and pay close attention to Troy.

"Eight rules for dating any teenage girl in America,

First off, you do not ask a girl out on a date,

Second off, you _do not ask a girl out on a date!_

Number third, if you and any girl have any awkward pauses when both of you aren't saying anything, you kiss her, if she doesn't kiss you back, the date is over,

Fourth base on the first date does not make her a slut,

Fifthly, date one girl at a time, buddies,

Sixth rule, no sorry's, no excuses,

Seventh rule, you will let her rave on and on about herself as long as you have to,

And the eighth and most important rule, if this is your first ever girl encounter at Gonzo World today, you have to get a date now, like, right now," Troy finishes.

* * *

Menlo walks by himself through Gonzo World. Troy's eight rules weighs down on his mind. There's a lot of girls in the theme park to choose from. He stops. Inside the souvenir store, there's Ashley A looking through the gifts on sale. She's by herself too.

 _That's very rare for an Ashley to be completely by them-self like this,_ Menlo thinks.

She's coming out. Menlo turns the other way before she notices him. There's a boy staring back at Menlo, leaning by the entrance of the Enviscerator. He's never seen this boy before. He has scruffy blonde hair, his hands dug into his thin red bomber jacket, with a grey wife-beater underneath. He appears so cool and together. He nods at Menlo. Menlo nods back. Maybe he has a strange telepathic mutual agreement with this teenager. Maybe he's a silent wing-man. But Menlo all of sudden feels confident enough to confront Ashley A. He turns around, going her way.

"Menlo?" Ashley A asks, bumping into him. "Menlo, I wondered if you'd come."

"Really?" Menlo replies. "You _did?_ "

"Yeah," she says, moving her blonde hair to study his face. "The dance was fun. I never really thanked you for asking me. So, thanks."

Menlo stays still shaking on the spot. Ashley looks back at him confused.

"Good!" Menlo blurts out.

"What?" Ashley A asks.

"That you had fun. Good."

Ashley A smiles and chuckles at that.

Menlo feels something coming over him. His biggest crush in his memory has always been Ashley A. He imagines himself taking Troy's advice. Taking her by the waist. Whisking her away to a private spot. Being submerged in the Timmy Woo perfume that she loves so much.

He blacks out.

He's now in Caveman Canyon. Ashley A pushes herself off of his grasp. Their lips were touching. She's giggling.

"I can't do this," Ashley A pants, out of breath.

"What?" Menlo goes, darting his eyes around at where he is. "What's going—?"

"I'm going out with Troy."

 _How did we get here?_ Menlo thinks. _We were just by the souvenir store near the Eviscerator.  
_

Ashley A lets go of Menlo and rushes away.

Menlo holds his head. He checks his Ritalin. He's missed the specified time when he's supposed to take it. He's been prescribed them since he was 'randomly' chosen to be principal for a day. Whenever he would miss one he'd return back to being hyperactive and out of control. That didn't happen this time. What _did_ happen was much weirder, and what's worse is, he can't remember what it was.

Menlo walks through the theme park once more. Molly is by herself, leaning her head on her hand, admiring the waterfall. He walks up to her.

"Some strange stuff is happening to me," Menlo says, shaking his head.

"Like, puberty stuff?" Molly asks, focusing on the waterfall.

"No, I mean," Menlo starts. He sighs and gives up. "What's going on, with you?"

"I don't think I'll ever find Gus," says Molly.

"He's here somewhere."

"Where?" Molly replies, turning around.

"Last time I saw him was with Troy and—"

"Of course he's with Troy," she moans, turning back around again. "His bestest bestie."

"I'll see you around, then," Menlo says, walking away through the theme park once more.

"Late," she replies, not looking back at him.

A boy approaches Molly. He pats down his hair as he makes his way up to her. He greets her and introduces himself.

"You wanna scale the Great Mammoth's Height ride with me?" he asks.

"No thanks," Molly replies, still focusing on the waterfall.

She moves her hand away from her chin and walks away from him. She takes two or three steps towards a nearby shop.

Another boy approaches Molly in a similar fashion. He stops her in her tracks.

"Um, uh," this boy starts, touching his face all panicky. "The Eviscrerator's fun, isn't it? We should try the ride out together, huh?"

"Rides like that make me queasy," Molly replies, walking away from him, "especially when I go on them more than once!"

Molly tries to find a quiet place away from these troublesome boys. She finds a picnic area and sits on a bench. She takes her phone out as she contemplates on telling Gus her true feelings right now. Gus hasn't replied to any of her private messages on Whaddown since she's been here.

Yet another boy comes up to Molly. He sits next to her with all the other benches free and unoccupied.

"Those boys are bothering you aren't they?" this boy says, not looking at Molly when he does.

"Exactly," Molly replies, setting her phone down on the table.

"You wish they could stop pestering you and just take a hint, right?"

"Right."

"So, how's about we escape them and go to the tunnel of love?"

"Ugh!" Molly screams, getting on to her feet, storming away from him. "For Fusion sake!"

The boy, having annoyed Molly, gets off the bench. Shaking his head, he takes a few steps and sees a guy walk up to him.

"What's _her_ problem?" that boy goes.

Gus looks over at that boy, having been inches away from Molly without seeing her. "I don't know," Gus replies, shrugging, and downing more sweets. "Nothing to do with me."

Gus makes his way down to a much brighter side of Gonzo World. Where there's lights and entertainment happening. He reaches the booths where the different games are, like in a carnival. He notices Vince with Gretchen as he walks passed. Vince takes one look at Gus, and then back at Gretchen in amazement.

"How are you doing this?" Vince asks Gretchen.

"Science," she replies, whilst she's holding on to a dozen toys that she's won.

"Yeah, I figured it would be," Vince goes. He examines all the booths and the sketchy carnys. "Gretch, these games are fixed as all hell. You're milking these carnys dry."

"By that, it sounds like you want me to try the knock-over-milk-bottle game. Hold my toys."

Gretchen hands over her stuffed animals, cartoons and superhero mascots into Vince's open arms. She moves over to the milk bottle game booth, and hands over a dollar to play.

"You have three shots to knock the bottles down," says the carny, handing over three plastic balls to Gretchen.

"I think one will be more than sufficient," Gretchen replies, just taking one ball. "May you refresh me on the rules please?"

"You throw the ball, the milk goes down, you're a winner," the carny says, bluntly. "The milk stays up, you're loser."

"That's it, right?" Gretchen asks. "So, I may manipulate this plastic ball anyhow I wish before it travels towards the glass bottles?"

"Yeah, kid."

Vince looks on holding all the toys, turning to Gretchen. "Gretchen, what aren't you getting?" Vince asks. "The rules are basic."

Gretchen stretches on her protective gloves. She takes out a tube of some substance. Pouring the acid on the plastic ball, she aims it, and throws the ball at the glass bottles. The plastic ball shoots straight through the glass bottle making a hole through the three of them. The hole keeps going through the other side of the booth.

Vince says, "whoa!"

The carny tried to cheat Gretchen. The bottles were glued together, as the remains of the little bottle pyramid stays there, with a hole eroding with steam coming out.

Gretchen gets yet another toy now.

Vince and the carny stand there stunned. With another toy to hold, Vince follows her.

"Experiment of mine of course," Gretchen starts, as she walks with Vince. "I found a way to make Hydrofluoric acid even stronger. It reacts on everything except plastic, like the ball I required to use."

"How am I even friends with you?" Vince asks, with a straight face, trying to catch up with her. "How does that even happen? Can you explain _that?_ "

Gretchen giggles at that.

They reach the duck pond game. Gretchen instructs Vince to just drop the toys on the ground. She takes off her glasses and looks at Vince. He smiles back at her. She puts on her contacts, as she explains that they aren't any normal contacts. They have X-Ray vision. She explains that almost all of the ducks have been numbered unfairly to give the lowest prizes. With her contacts, Gretchen points out the only two ducks out of one hundred that are worth the bigger prizes, to the carny's disappointment.

There are too many toys to carry, so Gretchen fetches a wheel barrel to put them in.

She moves to the ring toss. She asks the carny to perform a demonstration. He does so, and very easily fits a hoop over the bottle. Gretchen gives a dollar and gets a tiny hoop. She borrows a girl's hair drier, blows it around the hoop, melting the plastic ring and bending it to make it slightly wider. Handing over to Vince, he throws for Gretchen and fits it around the bottle.

The carny says, "you cheated!"

"On the contrary," Gretchen starts. She bends over inside the booth and takes out a hoop. It's the hoop the carny used. She hands it over to Vince. "May I have _my_ hoop please?"

The carny swears under his breath and hands Gretchen's one over. She compares both rings. Even through Gretchen stretched her hoop, it's still much tinier than the one the carny used. Gretchen steps inside the booth. She scientifically explains how the ring wouldn't fit on the bottle otherwise. It's just a hair wider than the neck of the target bottle, and the hard plastic just facilitates extra bouncing, making it virtually impossible to win from the player's position.

Vince laughs at how the carny is put in his place. The carny chucks all of his toys at Gretchen, and leaves his booth frustrated.

Gretchen picks up the toys and places them nicely, and precisely into the wheel barrel.

"How'd you know I'd make it fit on the bottle from that angle?" Vince asks.

"I trust your athletic ability," she replies, smirking.

They reach the basketball game booth this time. Gretchen pays to have a turn. She throws the basketballs perfectly through the hoop one after the other.

Gretchen stops in thought. "Heh," she says, pondering something.

"What?" Vince asks. "You've surprised even _yourself_ this time?"

"No, I've only surprised myself when I discovered dark matter when I was 11," Gretchen replies, in a quick rush. "They haven't cheated this time. The hoops haven't been compromised. They're actually regulation size."

"You can tell?" Vince asks, looking at basketball hoops from behind the protective net. "Cool. I'll play you."

They start again. Vince pays for both their turns. They make perfect shots against each other. Swish after swish after swish.

"Getting buckets, Gretchen," Vince goes, throwing in balls with ease. "Buckets."

They both win.

They go on a bench nearby. Gretchen calls for others to come around. Her and Vince give away the toys to the passing teenagers for free.

Vince puts a hand on Gretchen's arm. "We make a killer team," he says.

 _"Yeah_ we do," Gretchen replies.

 _I always cherish these moments I have with Vince,_ Gretchen thinks. _He's the only one in the gang like me to have extra-ordinary talents that we've yet to explore together._

Vince reaches for his phone in his pocket. He notices that he's got a Whaddown message from Ashley B, telling them to got together in the tunnel of love before it closes.

"My other half's calling me," Vince says, getting up from the bench. "I gotta go."

Vince leaves Gretchen on pursuit of Ashley B. She told him to meet her outside of the ride. He turns his quick walking into a light jog. In his peripheral, Mikey is gulping down on treats while Ashley T watches.

"Yes Mikey!" Vince shouts, jogging passed him and Ashley T. "Show that candy whose boss!"

Ashley T sighs looking at Mikey eat. "I'm glad _someone_ thinks this is something worth cheering," Ashley T moans.

"What's that?" Mikey asks, with his mouth full.

"Nothing," she replies.

"Are you sure you don't want some?"

Ashley T smiles. "No," she replies. "You enjoy yourself."

She looks away to this side and does a poor job at disguising her dismay.

 _Am I doing something wrong?_ Mikey thinks. _Ashley T has been so quiet, when we're supposed to be spending our precious time together._

Ashley T moves closer to Mikey. "You know I like you just as you are," she starts. Mikey stops eating. "No, no, I don't mean it like that."

"I've always been this way with food," Mikey says, leaving his snacks to sit. "Stuff happened last year and my appetite sort of, pretty much, dissipated into a hollow shell. But now I'm happy once more." Ashley nods slowly back at him. "You wanna go in the tunnel of love with me?"

"Nah, I think they're kinda corny to be honest."

"What? I thought you'd love that. Don't you like stuff like that, or my poetry anymore?"

"I do cause their made with time and care and stuff. The tunnel of love rides are just like, an excuse to hide your true affection in-front of everyone. If people can't deal with us expressing how we feel in public it's really _their_ problem."

"Never thought of it like that," Mikey replies. He pauses and stares at Ashley T. "Are you sure you don't want some?" He picks up his sweets and she shakes her head. "I can get you something else?"

Ashley T says she wouldn't mind a lemon scented H2WHOA. Mikey goes to the fast food part of the theme park to get it for her by himself. He enters inside and goes by the counter. Troy is leaning on that counter by himself, contemplating and day dreaming.

"Troy?" Mikey asks.

"Mike-anotor," Troy replies, not looking back at him.

 _How long can I keep running away from my problems?_ Troy thinks. _Getting girls can't cure everything._

"Are you okay?" Mikey continues, comforting Troy by the arm. "You seem—"

Troy walks away from Mikey before he could finish. Troy's been waiting for Menlo. He goes up to Menlo as he's getting something from the vending machine. The drink that Menlo wanted isn't coming out. Troy drop kicks the vending machine. Menlo's drink comes out.

Troy stares at Menlo with screwed eyes. "Hey dude, did you try to ask out my girlfriend, dude?"

Menlo stops from fetching up his drink. "Um—I, yeah—I didn't know you two were, you know, together, but yeah, I think I did," Menlo replies.

"You idiot!" Troy shouts at him. Menlo flinches. "You broke the first rule. What she say by the way? You know, from teacher to student."

Menlo stands in shock. He turns more relaxed and takes his drink from the machine.

"She said no," replies Menlo, "cause she said she's going out with you already."

"Damn it!"

 _I thought I was free from her,_ Troy thinks. _I'm so close at securing the deal with Spinelli. She's just getting hotter everyday._

"Huh?" Menlo goes.

"The eight rules are supposed to be fool proof, aka boyfriend proof, that's all," Troy replies, in a clunker manner.

* * *

TJ, with his hands dug in his pockets, walks around by himself. It's not that he hasn't noticed all the girls at Gonzo World, it's that they keep noticing him. He's been feeling girl's wanting to grasp his attention. Out of all of his friends, he's changed the most. Mentally as well as physically. His body has gone through somewhat of a transformation since juvie. Opting to where just a T-shirt over wearing a green sweatshirt, more often. Vince has been encouraging TJ with the phrase, suns out guns out.

He moves up to Spinelli, whose by herself, checking her cellphone, like she always seems to do.

"Oh, hey Teej," Spinelli says, placing her cellphone in her woolly hat.

 _She's lucky Gretchen constantly reminded her to put her phone to the side whenever riding any roller coasters,_ TJ thinks. _Her phone would have broken into a gazzilion pieces, from falling 100 feet in the air, otherwise._

Spinelli continues. "Just finished going rogue from you guys," she says. "Lapping it up in this joint the best way I can, cause everyone is just love crazy at the moment. You can't imagine how many guys think they can get off trying to ask me out by _not_ asking me out."

"Ha, sucks for you," TJ replies, chuckling.

"Try growing a set," Spinelli replies, pointing at her chest, indicating her breasts. "And see what it's like, buddy boy."

TJ feels like he's been looking at Spinelli's breasts longer than he needed to after she said that. He walks as Spinelli follows along side him.

TJ turns to Spinelli as they walk. "You wanna hear something funny?" he asks.

"You know I do," Spinelli replies.

"So, I've been on just about every ride. The Eviscerator, Typhoon Waves, even Baby Boomin' Carousel. All except for the tunnel of love—"

"Oh please. The fruity sappy love ride that forces two people in one tiny-ass boat. It's only exciting if one of those people gets sea sick. That's the only way it'll be able to resemble anything remotely close to what the real roller coasters can do to ya."

"I know, I know," TJ replies, laughing with her. He runs out of steam and stops still. He stares at her. "Um."

TJ scruffs up his hair. Awkwardly staring at Spinelli.

 _There's nothing to it when asking a girl to hang out romantically, so why is this so hard all of a sudden?_ TJ thinks. _Girls are just like us guys, right?_

"Teej?" Spinelli asks.

"Should we—?" TJ starts.

"You know how I think of you."

"Actually, I don't," TJ replies, as they continue to walk and talk together again. "We never really speak on it."

"Everybody's just rushing to have boyfriends and girlfriends and forgetting to just—I dunno," Spinelli goes.

They look at each other for a second.

"Look, I'll do whatever you wanna do," TJ says.

"I'll do whatever _you_ wanna do," Spinelli replies.

They look at each other yet again. Spinelli smiles and TJ mimics her with a silly face. Spinelli sighs and grabs TJ by the arm in an interlock like a couple would do. She leads TJ to the tunnel of love. The ride has romantic painted on designs from the outside. Hearts, flowers, and cupid with a bow and arrow.

The boat conductor stands there with conviction as if he's been waiting on them two to turn up. Unlike the scummy looking carnys that are in charge of the gaming booths, this old man-conductor seems cheery and full of life.

"Last boat of the day," the conductor says, with a thick french accent.

TJ and Spinelli make their way up the small ramp. A boat awaits for them on the water, with the conductor holding it still with his staff. TJ attempts to be chivalrous and lets Spinelli inside the boat first. She grunts and crosses her arms. TJ gives that up and goes in first with her following him. The conductor closes the boat's door behind him.

The charming conductor walks away. The tiny boat sets sail onward into the tunnel's big heart.

The tunnel is completely pitch black.

"You scared?" TJ asks.

Spinelli sighs. "Boring," Spinelli replies, with a yawn.

Lights turn on one by one by the sides. A rainbow of color. Slowly the lights increase. Little puppets pop around. Cuddly teddy bears to a little cupid baby shooting arrows above them, as the light sparkles into red hearts. Romantic music plays. They avoid each others eye contact. Only looking at each other in small intervals.

The ride is getting bumpy. The light disappears again. Only a few light bulbs linking in a row from the left and the right. The music stops. It's getting faster and faster. The boat is getting out of control. Water splashes inside of the boat. They hit drops and falls. Spinelli screams in fright. It's much rougher than any other ride in the theme park. Neither of them can tell how fast it's going. It seems much faster than the Eviscerator. Much wetter than Typhoon Waves.

 _What the hell is going on?_ TJ thinks. _I gotta be brave for Spinelli._

The boat slows down. Music turns on once more. Spinelli is holding on to TJ. He didn't even notice. She realizes what she's doing and lets him go. They leave the boat, step out of the ride and back to the open.

They walk together.

TJ laughs to himself.

"I've never heard you scream before," TJ says, chuckling. "I can get used to that."

"Shut your face!" Spinelli shouts at him. "And take my hand."

TJ stares down at her hand. Spinelli wiggles her fingers. TJ takes it. They walk together in the night, as all the roller coasters shut down and come to a halt one after the other around them.

They exit sign above them reads, 'Thank you for visiting Gonzo World!'

* * *

The gang are at the beach. TJ and Spinelli are the last ones to join the others. Gus has parked up his car rental on the sand. He's turned sober after engulfing on so much sugar and treats. Molly finally has Gus all to herself.

 _How many ways can I say, I love you?_ Molly thinks. _I like-like you, we should date,_ _ _we have chemistry,_ I think you're the one, I wanna be your girl, you plus me equals awesome-o, you make my giney tickle.  
_

"Gus!" Molly goes, hugging him tight. "I have something super cools I wanna say to you."

"Okay," Gus replies, as Molly lets him go. "I was gonna say something too."

 _I've been waiting all day for this, no, all week,_ Molly thinks. _But I just wanna hear him speak. I gotta learn to put Gus first sometimes too._

"All right. Uh, you first."

"I met someone today, you know, at Gonzo World. I asked her out, I mean, I didn't but I did. Troy taught me how after I asked him to explain it to me. She goes to our school too so I don't have to hang around and annoy you all the time like I used to."

Molly's mind stopped working when Gus said those first four words. She stands before him with her eyes wide open. Frozen and static like a statue. She doesn't move. Her own need to blink frightens her.

"Molly, are you okay?" Gus asks, poking her with his finger.

Molly shakes her head. "That's...great," she replies. "That's so great for you."

She walks away, leaving Gus utterly confused.

The gang look up at the stars together knowing that school starts tomorrow. They are around a camp fire. Mikey and Molly discuss the constellations looking up at the stars. Troy and Gus lean on the car talking to each other about girls. Menlo is with Vince and TJ, trying to catch up with what he's missed since being sidelined as a hall way monitor. Spinelli is with Gretchen discussing how she hates how scared she got on the ride, as Gretchen explains how it's completely natural.

They all eat and drink what's left in Gus' trunk. Mikey and Gus have already consumed all of the candy that contained hallucinogens, so the gang only experience the high of too much sugar.

Gretchen looks over at everyone. "Aren't you lot concerned about having all this sugar without brushing your teeth thoroughly afterwards?" Gretchen asks.

Everybody in the gang laugh at her.

Vince turns to Gretchen. "Never change, Gretch!" he says.

Spinelli stands up in-front of them all. "Hey guys, I don't wanna kill the vibe or nothing," she starts, "trust me, I wanna deck myself for even bringing it up, but, how are we gonna get back home before school starts?"

They all never intended to stay in Gonzo World for this long. The plan was to get home by the late afternoon. But they're still by the beach in California and it's just reached past midnight, as it's now the day school starts. They all look at TJ.

"Well," TJ says, "my first rule as principal, is to make today sophomore skip day."

**[PLAY SONG "Matt Martians - Where are yo friends?"AT THIS POINT]**


	19. A clockwork recess

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 2

TJ POV

* * *

 **There's me.** TJ, and these are my eight chums. That's Vince, Spinelli, Troy, Mikey, Gus, Gretchen, Molly and Menlo. We're sitting in the cafeteria, trying to make up our noggins on what to do this recess. Thad High dinner ladies gave us two percent milk. We could drink whole milk if we wanted to. We could ditch class and stay outside all day if we wanted to. It's milk fused with vanilla or strawberry or chocolate...which is what _we_ are drinking. This is what cranks you up, and gets you ready for a bit of the old _ultra-ten-der._

This high school is ours, _all_ ours.

It's been three days after sophomore skip day and there's still no sign of a principal replacement.

I slurp down my milk till I hit the bottom. Getting up, the whole gang follow me as I head towards the open area of the school. The part of the school where the first and second floors are separated with railings. All the lockers lined up beneath.

The school's changed.

There are colored rocks built into the walls for indoor rock climbing to reach those different levels. Some students are reaching upstairs like that right now. No harnesses, just the will and conviction not to fall, but if you feel like falling then there's a long slide from the second floor that tunnels back down or straight outside from the window. Other students are riding scooters, skateboards, bikes and hover boards in the hallway. Vending machines are free, on account that all the food in the school is now free. Blockhead FM is playing out loud on the PA system.

All the classroom doors are wide open. No class is in session at the moment. Each lesson is 15 minutes long and teachers send group Whaddown assignments on the phone for us to do in our own time. The students even take turns teaching the teachers. The computer lab is called 'the hacker space' now, which is synonymous to the safe space room which is the haven for where the softies and social justice warriors of the school hide. Neat word isn't it, my chum? Synonymous. Susan taught me that. Honestly, I'm learning more from us teenagers than the teachers ever did.

So, besides those tiny conditions to learn, it's all day recess.

Also there's freshman at our school now. The gang and I feel like the older wiser ones. Teresa Le Maize is here. Gus goes up to her. Vince and Troy separate too and this signals the rest of my friends to wonder around, doing their own different things.

I reach up to Mr Dude, whose not my tutor anymore, but the tutor for the first years.

"Go on," Mr Dude says, crossing his arms. "Brag. You don't have to be humble about it. You've got _me_ spoiled. I don't think I'd wanna teach in any other school now anyway. Not unless it's as sweet a society as our one."

"And what's so sweet about it?" I reply, scuffing my hands in my jacket pocket.

"There's no law and order anymore. It's sweet because it doesn't force a slow burning grudge between student to teacher, you know, young to old."

"You're not _that_ old, sir."

"You having to call me 'sir' pretty much dictates my old fogy-iness, and my inevitable decline of eventually resenting you meddling kids. Until then, we have some bigger things to worry about."

"Like what?"

"Which prank will we decide on using in order to stop that replacement before he wrecks the good thing we have going here."

"Ten-der!" I say, slapping into a handshake with a backward flat knuckle touch into a tower.

"Sup-ple!" Mr Dude replies, returning the shake.

I return back on, strolling through the hallway.

The emos are goths now. They're lead by Chrystal and not Drake anymore, who got knocked down the pecking order in that group. Kinda shows you that if you don't show authority as a leader then you automatically aren't one. They hate the hipsters more than they did last year. No, the hipsters aren't hipsters anymore either. Vince taught that term to me the other day. Hypebeasts.

 _Hmm. You know what?_ Now that I think about it, they've both completely flipped full circle. Emos hated themselves, but now that they're goths, they hate everyone else now. Hipsters dressed broke and bummy, but now that they're hypebeasts they're the opposites of that. The hypebeasts wear expensive 'Absolute' box logo clothes, 'Bant' camouflage shark full zip hoodies with ant designs, and pricey designer sneakers. They're lead by Jayce, who has a snapback hat with a LED visor, that constantly changes and alters with letters and emoticons.

Jayce says ' _Wassup?_ ' to me without saying anything, as the words flash along his cap.

I reply, "crazy and endless opportunities, my guy," not stopping still.

Jayce's snapback says, ' _Sick to hear,_ ' with ill face emoticons.

There are entirely new groups in school too. Celebrities. Yup. I think the stand off at the end of school last year has attracted the rich and famous to come to school here. They're full of young singers, child actors, reality show stars, models and potential prodigies. The leader of the celebrities is the most known from them, Cody Hunter. The pop singer. He transferred into my year from, being home-schooled, I think. That's what the tabloids speculated anyway.

The front doors of the school slam open. The same way the B.O.E did last year. It's the paparazzi barging into the school with handheld cameras and recording equipment. Light flashes as they swarm and take pictures of them.

"Cody!" one of the paparazzi shouts, with a camera up in Cody's face.

"Cody!" another goes, doing the same.

"Hey Cody!"

"Over here, Cody!"

These are grown men and women invading our privacy.

"That's my name," Cody says with a moan, brushing his blonde quiff hair. "You lot are already wearing it out."

A paparazzi goes, "you know where principle Third is, being Cody Hunter the _third,_ right?"

"No comment," Cody replies.

Another goes, "it's true that you hired ghostwriters for your new album, isn't it?"

"No comment."

"Cody, do you know Ashley Armbruster?"

"Hey, hey, guess what," Cody starts with a sly smirk, "no comment."

"Will you be dating her in some point in time?" one asks.

Cody holds his head, wiping his hand across his face. "Don't ask me about her," he says.

"Have you two ever—?"

Cody wags his finger, slightly shaking his head with a straight face. "Don't ask me about her again, don't ask me about her again, Don't ask me about her—"

Deshay steps in. "Whoa!" he says, pushing the pap away. "Leave my brother-man be."

Deshay's no longer a hipster anymore. He's still a leader, but for the Black Panthers. He's wearing a black beret as his group all wear full black, with both black and white student members.

Deshay moves into the pap's camera. "You know what the media is missing?" he asks, as he's being recorded. "The truth. Are you aware that young black men have a higher rate from being killed by police than other American this year? The abandonment of the criminal justice reform is most detrimental to us teenagers? That the news only caters to reality shows than the—where are you all going?"

The paparazzi put down their cameras and leave through the front doors again.

Cody Hunter turns to Deshay. "I think that did the trick," he says. "Thanks."

"Any time," Deshay replies. "Fight the power!" Him and his other members raise their fists up together at the same.

The bell rings for study hall. The momentum of the hallway doesn't change as if the bell didn't even ring.

I head to study hall anyway.

Study hall is just an open area like the cafeteria now. It's a place where we can watch TV, play our video games openly and read the comic books stacked on the shelves to study from. Yes, my chums, you heard me right. Comic books are part of the curriculum.

After half an hour, study hall is over and the bell rings for third period.

I throw my arm around Menlo whose walking by himself. We have this class together. He greets me with a slight squeal. He couldn't sense me sneak up on him.

"Those WILMCO look-a-head thingys are actually neat," I say, taking my arm off him. I wait my turn to climb up to the first floor. "I haven't started to use it yet but I can sorta see where there going with it. Where are _you_ going?"

Menlo's walking away from me. "I'm using the stairs," he says, thumbing pointing away.

"But we have walls we can climb up on," I reply, in motion to climb myself.

"I'll stick to the stairs for now. I'm less likely to fall from a flight of stairs. See you in class."

Menlo in one point in time would have jumped at the chance of doing anything reckless.

It's third period science. But it's my reign, so it's TJ's version of a beneficial scientific experience. Mr Harrison, rather than nailing the periodic table in our noggins, teaches us how to invent our own candies and sodas using beakers, and other equipment.

It's fourth period English literature. But not just any other literature, it's comic book literature. Our homework assignment from Miss Schwartz was to read DarkDiablo and compare it to the streaming media, and video on demand online episode. Translation from gobbledygook, it means watch a five minute clip of a web show and then discuss as a class how the story from comic to TV series takes liberties in recreating the plot of the hero's story. Miss Schwartz is less than enthusiastic with this curriculum change as she huffs, puffs and throws our sheet of papers at us with distaste.

It's Lunch time. The teacher's lounge isn't off limits anymore. The goths go in and out to drink from the coffee machine. Some of the teachers eat in the cafeteria with the students and not just be separated entirely by the faculty. There's no division between us. The age and role in the school doesn't matter anymore.

Foods great today. My taste-buds are doing back-flips. Maybe the dinner ladies deserve a pay rise. _Meh._ I'll think about it.

Teresa joins our table next to Gus, whose sitting next to his new girlfriend in our year, that he's currently dating. Not Molly. She's too be busy failing at getting his attention by blatantly flirting with Yope on the UN's table. She's stroking his hair, laughing in heckles, and sharing her food with him. It's just making Yope less than comfortable. On that note, it's fair to say that all the first years seem super comfortable. The trash cans in the hallways are full of their maps. All of them are mingling with us second years and just asking us where everything is instead. It don't seem like much, but trust me when I say, that _that's_ a breakthrough in high school standards, and an improvement to our scaredy cat approach to talking to each other through cellphones.

Some girls surround Cody Hunter. It's a couple days into school, so him and his group aren't being hassled to be in other people's selfie's anymore. They're neutral in our book. They're just teenagers that just so happen to air on our flat screen TVs and on the big screen sometimes.

Menlo's eyes are locked on Ashley A whose talking to Cody. Troy, whose supposedly going out with her, doesn't seem to mind. He's too busy deliberately interrupting Vince and Ashley B's lunch together. To much of Ashley B's annoyance and Vince's relief.

Mikey and Ashley T haven't been quite as chummy as they used to be, as Mikey is here on a table with me, and she is with a few other girls eating.

Gretchen's still in love with science and no boy seems to be changing that.

As for me. My love life's on hiatus. Still trying to find the best way to propose, I mean, to ask Spinelli out.

It's fifth period. I skip class. Hold on, hold on, my chums, I've got a good reason for it. Instead of going to class I open the principal's office. My office. There's a little sign on the desk that reads Theodore J. Detweiler. And also a portrait of Vince, Spinelli and I, when we were on a ride at Gonzo World.

I sit on the chair and take a spin around. I lean back staring at the ceiling for a second.

I press the button to make a PA announcement. "Attention high school people," I say. "This is a reminder that detentions are not only exclusive to students. I'm looking at _you_ , Miss Schwartz. I'm working on a fast food service in the cafeteria so keep an eye on that. Oh, and can Gretch and Menlo make their way to the principal's office after class. Late everyone."

Class is over as I can hear people come back downstairs. I reconnect the radio to the PA system. My two best friends turn up with a knock on the door as I invite them in. Menlo, whenever he can, helps me keep organized with my filings. Gretchen helps me with the jargon of it all.

* * *

It's the end of the school day.

It's five of us in the cafeteria. We drink some chocolate milk as we wait for Gretchen in AP Science, Molly in the United Nerds, and Menlo whose with Mikey in the safe space room discussing philosophies.

After a while, these other friends return. We head to the hallways, that's now peaceful and quiet.

I empty out my locker. I take out my handheld crushed-can cannon launcher, a sack of marbles, my hockey stick, my slingshot and an ammunition of firecrackers.

Spinelli walks past me to her locker.

Vince comes over to me.

"So, prankster prince, how's it going?" Vince asks me.

I know what he really means.

"What if I'm not good enough, Vince," I reply, as I notice Spinelli is fitting on her hard candy knuckle dusters. "She's the only girl I've ever kissed. Ever. I'm too rusty."

"You should try it out with other girls before you pucker up with the main squeeze."

"How many girls did _you_ kiss before Ashley B?"

"Just the one. But one's better than none, right? Look at Troy, his tally is up to ninety nine."

Troy's by his locker getting his weapon of choice for the evening. His wooden nunchucks he hangs around his neck.

"Ninety nine?" I ask, handing him over some fireworks.

"Ninety nine," Vince replies, taking them and flexing his slingshot. "And that counts for the girls, not the amount of kisses."

"Whoa."

We walk out together into the afternoon.

We hit a couple bends as we walk with all our weapons in hand. I put my hand across my chums to make them halt. It's Chucko from 98th Street high school in-front of us. He's with his four cronies, surrounding a girl, who he's trying to ask out.

"What if we—?" Chucko asks.

"No," she replies.

"How about a—?"

"No."

We move in.

Gretchen, Molly, Menlo and Mikey have the bubble guts. Which is funny cause we're the one's who drank more milk, waiting for them. They hang back and don't want to get confrontational. The others and I aren't shook over a little scuffle.

"Hey, if it isn't dummy chucky Chucko Kowalski I've heard so much about, in person," I say.

The girl seizes her opportunity and walks away from Chucko, occupied on her phone.

I continue. "How you doing, you dummy, stinking of skunk-proof deodorant and cheap cologne?" I ask. "Come and get one in the marbles, if you have any marbles, you prissy little girl."

Chucko spits on the ground and gives an evil grin. "Let's get 'em, you lot!" he shouts, as he and the rest of them run at us.

Chucko, Cheay, Jocko, Buster and Koreo are fighting dirty. They have baseball bats, broken bottles and bricks on them.

Both of our gangs meet. I dodge a broken bottle. Troy waves his nunchucks at Jocko. Gus misses a swing and pistol whips Buster with his BB gun. I'm hit in the head with a brick. Vince gets hit in the stomach with a baseball bat by Chucko. Gus restrains Buster, but Jocko punches Gus over and over, giving him a dead arm. Jocko pauses at Spinelli. That gives Spinelli time to punch Jocko across the face with her knuckle duster. Koreo swings an arm at me. I duck. I shoot my cannon in his stomach, but his belly just absorbs it.

I empty my sack of marbles making Cheay and Buster slip up. Buster gets up and he's about to throw a brick at Spinelli, and stops. Vince shoots his firework, lighting Buster's shirt on fire. He does a stop drop and roll on the ground. Gus charges at Chucko with a spear take down. Spinelli jumps on Koreo's back with her arm around his neck in a sleeper hold. Vince and Troy pummel on Cheay. Chucko hits Spinelli with his baseball bat. She falls off Koreo, who drops himself, having been choked out by her. Chucko swings his bat at Spinelli, but I catch his bat with my hockey stick.

I have a sword fight with Chucko. My stick clashes against his bat. I duck a swipe and trip him up. Hitting my hockey stick over and over at his cowering body, I'm pissed he'd wanna fight her without hesitating even a little bit.

Chucko and the rest are all on the ground now.

I hear sirens. I whistle to make the gang stop and listen.

"It's the Cops!" I yell out to everyone. "Come on, let's go!"

We run away.

Troy is staying behind. He pulls off Chucko's Zeus sneakers, and ties the laces and hangs it around his neck.

"Troy!" I yell.

He ignores me and looks at the sneakers on his chest. He shakes his head. Throwing the sneaks back at Chucko's body, he puts the nunchucks around his neck instead. He picks up Chucko's baseball bat.

Those used to be Troy's Zeus sneaker's, right? He must've changed his mind and he's letting Chucko have them. He probably thought they're not worth it anymore.

Troy catches up with us.

We reach a safe place away to stop. Everyone is getting their breaths back.

Vince, leaning on his thighs, turns to me. "You are freakin' unbelievable," he says.

"I had to teach them a lesson, man," I say, breathing in huffs of air.

Molly turns to me. "TJ?" she asks, looking just above my eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Why do you wear your hat to the back?"

Molly's wearing her pink snap back to the front. Everyone else is staring back at me too. Spinelli chuckles. I choose to take my time with a response.

"Wind resistance," I reply, standing up straight, smirking. "It makes you run away from the cops faster."

The night has fallen now.

We move together through the suburbs.

"Anyone got wheels?" I ask at everyone.

Gretchen asks, "how do propose all nine of us can travel together?"

Troy stops still screwing his eyes. "I think—yeah, I got a light bulb moment."

We follow Troy as he leads us outside of his house. He moves up to a long family minivan. He fiddles with it's window that's peaking open slightly, and jimmy's the lock open. He undoes screws and proceeds to hotwire it.

Gus moves up. "Are you sure you should be doing this, Troy?" he asks.

"Am I sure I should be yoinking the car from my parents who kicked me out?" Troy asks back, not taking an eye away from what he's doing. " _Yes_ I'm sure. They can't kick me out of the house twice."

Gretchen sides with Troy saying, "if so, it would reset the polarities inducing them to bring you back home."

"Uh-huh," Troy says back. "A ha!" The minivan ignition turns on. "Got it."

Mikey looks more confused than anyone else. "Troy?" he asks. "You're homeless?"

Everyone looks over at Mikey.

"Mike-ster," I say, shaking my head at him. "You have a prophet's vision but a goldfish's memory."

"Easy!" Spinelli goes at me, strutting her fists on her side. "He has a reason. Right Mikey? He probably didn't know since, um."

Mikey says, "I just didn't know."

I slap him on his back. "Whatever you say. Lets go."

Spinelli stands there, annoyed at me. She's the last to get in but she still secures shotgun. Mikey closes the sliding door once we're all inside.

I drive on down the road. I slam on full speed. We're barely hitting 20 miles an hour.

We sit in silence for a second, passing little glances here and there to each other.

"This is sort of, uh," I start, trudging along as we only reach the safe speed limit.

"Anticlimactic," Spinelli finishes.

It's slow and lackluster but it is a soccer mom minivan. What did we really expect? I pull over to the side.

Gretchen says she'll make an on-the-fly NOS bottle like the one's in racing video games. She gets out a chemical called Dinitrogen monoxide. She takes out her coffee thermos flask. She puts them together and fits it in the trunk of the minivan. She explains it will burn more fuel from a controlled combustion process.

Spinelli checks the hood of the minivan. She needs a few things. I assign us to go on pursuit for what she needs. Gus finds an old abandoned electric fan. Vince breaks it to take the fan out. Spinelli replaces the mechanical one with the electric fan to free up some of the vehicle's horsepower. Menlo finds a broken TV remote control. Gretchen makes a performance chip from taking the remote apart, and uses the button to fit inside the interior, in-between the passenger and the driver's seat.

Spinelli upgrades the engine, with the tools Gretchen bought from her backpack. Gretchen says the tech kids taught her to always to be prepared. This is like the time them two repaired Old Smokey the school bus.

We head back inside the minivan. I start it up. The engine sounds different. It has energy to it. I press down the pedals and speed down the roads. I press the nitros button. The car bolts faster than a sports car through the town. Green nitrous flames come out of the exhaust. I swerve around the slower cars on the road. Molly screams in delight out the window, letting her brunette and pink streaked hair wave in the wind.

What we are after now is to make a surprise visit. That's the real kick, and good for laughs, and lashings out for the old _ultra-ten-der_.

The nine of us reach the US department of education.

We all put on matching monkey Pseudonymous masks. We sneak up to the building.

I press the building's buzzer.

A lady's voice asks us who is it.

"Excuse me, can you please help?" I ask into the speaker. "My friend needs to use the bathroom! Before he has an accident!"

I'll call a bluff. I won't make Mikey drink from a hose this time.

" _We don't allow just anyone to use the facilities,_ " the lady replies. " _You'll have to go somewhere else._ "

"But, ma'am, it's a matter of life and death! He'll do a number three at the entrance if you don't help!"

"A w _hat?_ "

"That's right! Not a number one, or a number two, something much worser than that!"

There's a pause. The bell buzzes. I push it open.

We head inside of the building. It's a large open area. A receptionist desk is at the front with the lady who buzzed us in. Lettering across the top says, 'in discipline we trust.' There's a library of books stacked around on high shelves and computers lined up on tables. People of the board turn at us shocked. They're not sure what to make of our monkey masks. There's some guards being alerted.

We're about to crash the board's evening meeting.

"Right!" I say at my eight chums, as we move further inside. "Now, Lady Brawler subdue the guards. Metal Gear Trooper and Wild Child, steal back the files on the computers with all the teenager's personal information. Think Tank and Mr All Star, explode the door for the curriculum answers. Pink Mist, Bountiful Bunny and the Amicable Hulk, follow me." Everyone falls out. I can't see Molly. "Pink Mist?"

I turn around. Molly is taking all the free candy from the receptionist desk before running back up to me.

"Sorry, Prankster Principal," Molly says, "it said take one."

I set the pace.

" _I'm singin' in the rain,_ " I sing, as I smash my hockey stick at a computer screen.

Troy, using the baseball he got off Chucko, does the same.

" _Just singin' in the rain,_ " I continue, as I shoot a firecracker with my slingshot at people from the board making them back away.

" _What a glorious feelin'._ "

A B.O.E guard runs up to me. Mikey holds him off the ground with a sumo hug.

" _I'm happy again,_

 _I'm laughing at clouds,_

 _So dark up above,_

 _The sun's in my heart,_

 _And I'm ready for love._ "

I put my earbuds in the guard's ears and switch them on sonic high volume. It bursts his ear drums open. Mikey lets him go as he rolls around on the floor holding his ears.

" _Let the stormy clouds chase,_ " I tune, swinging my hockey stick again.

Spinelli sprays a fire extinguisher at the guards at the same time as she zooms across the room on a wheeled desk chair.

" _Everyone from the place,_ " I ring out, smashing more things.

Molly uses her extreme-party-popper turret gun, made by Gretchen, who gave it a black powder and gun cotton upgrade. The shooting sparks out smoke and colorful confetti.

Gretchen and Vince set off an explosion and steal the answers to the curriculum.

Gus has the memory stick with the private information. He uses a NERF gun that shoots out green goo sticking on to the board member's suits.

Where's Menlo?

There he is. He's jumping all over the place. Menlo's turned crazy. Climbing up the book shelves pulling random books out.

Where was this Menlo when we were fighting against Chucko?

I carry on singing.

" _Come on with the rain,_

 _I've a smile on my face,_

 _I walk down the lane,_

 _With a happy refrain._ "

I pull down the entire book shelves on to the floor.

Mikey and Menlo throw the books off the shelves from the higher areas.

" _And I'm singin'!_ "

I blast the whole wall of books with my crushed-can cannon launcher.

" _Just singin'!_ "

I blast the other wall of books.

" _In the rain!_ " I finish sing out, as all the ripped paper fall around everywhere in tiny bits like snowflakes.

The cops sirens ring out. The B.O.E swat team turns up. We fight back with our weapons. Vince ushers and pulls everybody up the stairs. I follow him with the rest of the gang. There's a big riot down there now. It's nearly impossible to tell who's who as the humongous tussle goes on without us. We escape from a window on the upper floor. Vince gets us to jump out of the window one after the other. First Spinelli, then Troy, Gretchen, Mikey, Gus, and Molly. Vince wants me to go next, but I can't see Menlo. I tell him to go. I head back inside for Menlo. I find him. He's on the higher floor preparing something.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Leaving a signature mark!" he shouts back, as he throws a grenade into the rubble of people below.

Smoke spreads. _Ugh!_ Something smells horrible, like rotten eggs and used diapers. Oh. It's a stink bomb. Menlo comes with me to the open window. I jump. Menlo's the last to drop down.

We run together as we reach the whole gang who haven't stopped running. Menlo ignites a riot flare with the side of his fist. He holds it in the air. It shines a luminous red smokey light as the nine of us run away from the anarchy together and into the night.

After we're away from it all, we separate one after the other as we head to our different homes.

Spinelli and I are the last two standing, seeing as she lives three doors down away from me. I stand on her house's lawn with her.

Spinelli stares at me smiling. "I had a great time today," she says.

"Yeah, it was pretty fun," I reply, peering deep into her eyes.

"Will you be okay when the new principal arrives?"

"Yeah, sure, for the first time ever. Everything's gonna be just fine."

We stare at each other for a while. Her big bright eyes are stuck on mine.

"You knew what you were doing when you woke up this morning, didn't ya," she says.

"Me?" I reply. "Nah. You know, I tried to make it up as I went along and stuff."

I'm fixated on her smile. If there's any a indication, this is it. I just wanna cut to the chase. Action speaks louder, right?

I move in to kiss her. Spinelli punches my arm.

"Ow!" I go, rubbing my numb arm.

"You think I'm _that_ easy?" she starts, "I need to be wined and dined first."

"Dang! I knew we should have dropped off for some soda and food afterwards."

Spinelli holds on to my hand. She kisses me on the cheek.

"See ya tomorrow, Teej," she says.

"Yeah," I reply. "See ya."

I head to my house. Entering inside, I flip off my sneaks and go to my room. I lean my hockey stick by my closet. My red cap, I take it off and place it on my TV's antenna. I collapse on my bed and stare at the ceiling for a second. I put my crushed-can cannon launcher gun, my marbles and the rest of my weapons in the draw, that's full of more pranks, blueprints and ammo.

It's been an awesome evening, and what I need now to give it that perfect ending is a bit of Super Murder Degrees VI.

I turn on my TV. Putting it on full volume, I start up my Ultra Box infinity.

Classic music plays from the start up screen to the home menu.

The game is booting up. The artistic pictures of the start up screen flash.

 _Oh, joy! Joy and heaven!_ It's ten-derness and sup-pleness made real. I begin to be submerged again into the video game world. Where there's nothing but a gazillion possibilities. Like I've got a cheat code on life and age is no longer a factor, or like I'm on another planet with my soda pouring upwards, gravity just meaningless now.

As I play as the central character.

I envision every single part pan out like a instant classic motion picture.

* * *

 **"TJ! TJ!"** Mom yells from outside my door.

I grown back. I'm still in bed. Having my head looking straight up to the ceiling, I don't move.

Mom yells again. "It's past seven, TJ!" she says. "You don't wanna be late for school!" She turns the door's knob, and walks up to me. She feels my forehead with the back of her hand. "Sam!" She shouts for Dad as he comes up the stairs and into my room too. "TJ?"

I stay completely still. Only now do I begin to blink, but completely out of sync.

Dad asks, "what's the matter, TJ?"

"Dada?" I reply, my head still looking up.

"Feel his forehead, he's burning up," Mom says, as Dad does just that. "You're getting a fever. I'll go get the baby thermometer and the petroleum jelly."

"No!" I yell.

My parents stand there shocked.

"Sorry to bark at you like that," I say, apologizing. "It's this _darn_ pain in my noggin, it's not a fever."

Mom opens the curtains. I push the kettle and the heat pack further under my bed, so it's out of sight.

I scrunch my eyes. "What the heck?" I wail, shielding my eyes from the sun. "Where's that ultra beam of light coming from?"

Dad says, "your mom just opened the curtains."

Taking my chance while they're not looking, I rub my hands in ice cubes that I have in my cup from under my bed, then rub my cold fingers on my forehead.

"Feel my head," I say to him. "It's only warm now. See?"

Dad feels my head with his palm. "He's right, he _is_ cooling down," he says.

I perk up a little and move my body up. "I'm fit as Fusion," I say. "I'll get up."

"No!" Mom and Dad yell as they push me back down.

"I'm the principal."

"No!" they shout, pushing me back down again.

"But, I have a lot of responsibilities," I say. "Everyone's counting on me coming in early today."

"Honey, you're not going to school like this," Mom says, keeping me down until I'm laying still.

Becky appears at my door, her hands on her waist. "What's _his_ problem?" she asks.

"He says his head hurts and he's delirious," Mom replies back to Becky. "He just told us he's the principal."

"He's lying," Becky says.

Milking the moment, I rotate my head as groggily and as helplessly as I can. "Becky, is that you?" I ask, almost in a whisper. "I thought I heard that kind voice."

"Die."

Dad says, "Becky, go to work."

"Excuse me?" she replies. "This is hardly Oscar worthy. If that was me, you'd drag me to school, pin me down to a classroom chair and force my eyes open until I learned to be a good girl."

"Becky, there's no need to be a grouch," I say, giving her a wink when Mom and Dad aren't looking. "You _have_ a job. You have the freedom to just do whatever you want now. You're so lucky. I have to worry about homework, exams and then there's college—"

"Shut your trap, fungus!"

"Monkey slut!"

Mom and Dad gasp, but not Becky. She doesn't even flinch.

"I'm so so sorry dearest sister of mine," I say, really selling it. "That wasn't me. It's the loud noises. Ugh. They're, making me so, volatile, you know?"

"You can't really be buying this," Becky pleas.

Mom and Dad don't say anything.

"All right," Becky says. "That proves it. T-jerk's always been the favorite."

With that, she leaves back out of my bedroom, going downstairs and out the front door.

Mom turns back to me. "I'll put your breakfast in the oven," she says.

"Call us anytime you need anything, okay?" Dad offers.

"Thanks," I reply. "I'm okay. I'm just thankful that I've got such loving and caring parents. I—I think I love you guys."

"We love you too, just get some rest and go to school when you're ready," Mom says, as she kisses me on the forehead.

"Okay, I'll just sleep. I'll think I'll go to school afternoon-ish."

Dad says, "feel better, champ," as he rubs my shoulder.

They both leave my room. They close the door. I wait for them to leave through the front door. Eager, I get up slightly. I hear the front door shut.

 _Wow!_

It worked.

I collapse my head back on my pillow.

* * *

I wake up after having a nice little doze off. On my feet, I go to the bathroom to take a slash. I walk over to the stair— _huh?_ Call me completely crazy but, there was someone in that room. My parents room. Maybe I faked having a headache so much, I _really do_ have one? And now I'm seeing things? _  
_

I stroll up to that open room.

 _Whoa!_

Dr Slicer. He's in Mom and Dad's room sitting on the bed. Waiting for me. He appears just as mean as he did when Prickly was supposed to leave. Bald, razor thin glasses, a thin mustache, and a moldy brown overcoat over his suit. And most evil of all is that jagged scar that goes straight down the left side of his face.

I'm still in my boxers. I cross my arms, my legs slightly too, and lean on the side of the open door.

"Hey Slicer! Hows it hanging?"

"Awake at last, Theodore?" he asks. Slicer, with a straight face, puts down the portrait of me as a baby, on the bed side table. "I met your mother on her way to work. She gave me the key." He shows that key and drops it on the side. "She said something about a pain somewhere. Hence, you're not at school this morning?"

"A real bad headache, sir," I reply." It should clear up by the afternoon."

"Or certainly by later this evening, yes. The evening's the great time, isn't it, Theodore J?"

"You wanna tea or something, sir?" I ask, thumb pointing behind me.

"No time," Slicer replies.

Tad White couldn't function without having tea first. But this isn't Tad White.

Slicer just stares at me. This is awkward. Being in my boxers still, doesn't help.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" I ask, stepping up closer till I'm next to him, his head by my chest level. "Anything wrong?"

"Wrong?" he asks back. "Why should you think of anything being wrong? Have you been doing something you shouldn't?"

"Just a manner of speech."

"It's that manner of speech that made you become principal."

"I've been doing nothing I shouldn't. The B.O.E have nothing on me, man. Sir, I mean."

Slicer's slight grin, If I can call it that, drops completely. "Stop being a smart-ass about the chaos you've caused," he says. "Just because the police haven't picked you up yet doesn't mean that you've not been up to some unpleasantness. There was a bit of unpleasantness last night. Some very extreme unpleasantness, yes? A few of Chucko's friends were bought away in ambulances. Your name was mentioned. Certain friends of yours were named too. I am warning you, little Theodore. I've been good to you. Good enough to give you your space, giving you enough time to blow off a little bit of steam through these delinquencies, the one man in this sore and sick community who wants to save you from yourself!"

Slicer punches me in the gut. Air rushes out of my lungs. I hunch over and hold the hinges of the door. He can't do that? Can he? I'm not gonna let him see a shred of weakness.

"You've got a good home here. Good, loving parents. You've got not too bad of a brain. Is it some devil that crawls inside of you?"

"Nobody's got anything on me," I reply, getting my breath back. "I've been out of juvie for a quite some time now."

"Mm-hmm, and that's what worries me. You're about due by my reckoning. That's why I'm warning you to keep your young handsome robust self out of trouble. You think I was a strict administrator when we were in that tiny playground of a school? My disciplining has only begun."

I laugh out loud. 'Disciplining' is giving me the giggles.

"Sorry," I say.

"You have no idea," Slicer replies. "I thought of newer ways to break impressionable teenagers like you down. You defy me once, and only one time, I will inflict punishments on you and all of your friends. The type of punishments so bad that it'll turn you into a blubbering mess. Make you involuntary puke out at the very thought of it. That'll tear down your happiness turning you into nothing more but a hollow shell of your former self, and hopefully into a functioning person in society. Do I make myself clear?"

"As an un-infested lake, sir," I say, smirking as wide as I can. "As clear as the blue sky on summer vacation."

Slicer gives me back the tiniest of tiny smiles, before he frowns back to his natural state.

* * *

I motor over to Quarter Chasers in the Townsedge mall. I'm the only kid here. Well, it is the school time. There's so many free games I can play on. I carry on with my personal errand anyway. I go to the clerk working here with the toys stacked behind him. Digging in my pocket, I take out my dozens of prize tickets I've saved to redeem the toy I came for. Using my yellow tickets like cash, I buy an electronic shock key ring. This shock key ring exerts more vaults than prescribed by law.

I walk around the almost empty arcade. There's two girls playing on a game. A blonde and a brunette from another high school. They're both really cute as heck, plus they're gamer girls. It doesn't get any hotter than that. Two total dime pieces. I guess I'm not the only one skipping school. I move up to them. The two girls are on a video game cabinet playing 'a clockwork orange.' An 8 bit side scrolling beat 'em up.

They run out of lives.

It's game over for them.

"Pardon me, ladies," I say. "You don't mind if I...?"

The Blonde girl shrugs and the other shakes her head.

I slide in between them, so that each girl is either side of me. I race through the game in lightning speed. They try to give me hints and tell me to watch out a few times, but I've got it. I play though it flawlessly.

"You're good," the girl on my left says.

"Like _too_ good," the other girl says. "You some expert or something?"

"Nope," I reply, wiggling the joystick, pressing buttons, and staring back at them a few times. "It's just that, most games like these are impossible to finish unless you use some tricks. Spam a few of the same moves here. Trap a dumb enemy in the corner there. Save a trash can chicken right at the inch of death for when you really need the health."

"Yeah, but you have to had some practice," the cute Blonde girl says again at me.

"Well, practice makes..." I start.

I move away from the cabinet. The game shines the word 'Perfect' as the game finishes and rounds up all my points.

The girls shout, "perfect!"

I scuff my hands into my jacket pockets. My new thin green bomber jacket for the year. Its an ode to my old green cotton jacket that's grown too small since Third street.

"You wanna do that for me?" I ask the Brunette girl, as the screen waits for my initials for the high score.

"Sure!" she squeals in delight. "What's your initials?"

"TJ," I reply.

"What's that short for?" the other girl asks.

"TJ."

"Um...okay," she says, sounding unimpressed. "Wait, it's _you_ isn't it? You're you."

"Yup. I'm me."

"TJ. That boy on the TV! You're that boy that made Third High fight against the cops! Hey, why aren't you there right now?"

"Why aren't _you lot_ at school?"

The Brunette says, "that's not fair," with a giggle. "We asked first."

"You two girls are _way_ too pretty to be developing carpal tunnel in this cave of an arcade," I say. "Come to my spot." I put my arms around them both. "You. Are. Invited."

I take my arms away, and turn to leave, walking ahead of them. I turn back around. The girls aren't budging.

"Okay," says one.

"No thanks," says the other. "We'll stay here, maybe even face that pop quiz we didn't study—"

I cough out loud with a, "I have an Ultra box infinity," and cough again.

And like that, they change their minds.

I bring them back to my house. As long as Slicer doesn't make a surprise appearance, this'll be fun. I make my way inside my bedroom, hanging my hat on my antenna.

The girls sit on the edge of my bed. Really cutesy with their legs crossed. I hand them both controllers. I only have two. Turning the TV on, I sit in between them. The Blonde girl takes the remote off me and turns the TV back off. She throws the Ultra box controller away and puts her hand on mine. She puts her hair behind her ear and smiles at me. They both are.

Is this really gonna happen?

We look at each other and sneak glances at each others lips. I gently push my mouth on hers. It's sweet and soft.

The other girl taps my shoulder. I feel her lips on mine. Only now this time, I'm feeling her tongue trading with mines.

Before I know it, I'm taking turns with both of them. I don't know where to put my hands. I put it on her lap. The Blonde girls pulls my hand up to her chest. She lifts my hand under her shirt, as I have my hand on her boob. Her friend just copies what she's doing with me. It's like they're trying to one-up each other with who can make out better.

I'm going second base with both of them, as they're letting me cup feels at the same time.

Now I tab my score at three.

That includes Spinelli.

* * *

It's the afternoon when I enter the front doors of the school. I bring a backpack full of my prank props. I'm ready. But everything's normal. Too normal. As in everyone's in the hallway and no class is in session.

Spinelli walks up to me, "where have you been, slugger?" she asks.

Mikey welcomes me too and says, "TJ, you've—"

I cut Mikey off as I see _him_. Menacing, as he was this morning, Dr Slicer makes his way down the hallway. All the students barely take any notice of him. Slicer isn't alone. He has that lady assistant with him, taking notes.

"Attention students!" Dr Slicer announces, at all of us. "When I begin my duties tomorrow there are gonna be a lot of changes. This care free era of sorts will vanquish and be a thing of the past. There will be no biking and scooting in doors. Anyone found using them on the premises will be expelled immediately. Hence forth, Gilda will be my vice principal in command and will report back to me—"

The jocks make noise coming down the hallway.

"Aye!" Troy shouts, with a big welcoming smile.

Vince asks, "did anyone miss us?"

Troy turns to everyone pointing them out. "You? You? You?"

Slicer clears his throat and continues. "As I understand it, this is a private institution, therefore the level of learning will now become top tier, further more—"

"Look at that!" Troy says. "We got ourselves a new principal!"

Vince says, "now that's what I'm talking about!" slapping hands with Troy. He moves up to Slicer too. "Wassup, man?"

Vince puts his hand out out for Dr Slicer, who leaves him hanging. Troy does the warthog sooie salute.

Slicer ignores them both. "As I was saying, further more..." he continues.

Vince nudges Troy saying, "he's trying to _diss_ us."

"He probably got less dates, than you _and I_ put together," Troy replies.

Vince screws up his face pointing at Slicer and tells Troy to, "get' em."

"You ole shiny-bald-head, mofo," Troy calls Slicer.

Vince shouts, "get 'em!"

"You no-hair-having, Brazilian waxed, baby-smooth-around-the-whole-body, mofo."

Everyone laughs. Slicer stands silent. His face is trembling, getting more and more enraged.

"Dude! Get 'em!"

"You Bond villain wannabe, petting kittens with a droopy-scar-on-the-side-of-the-face-having, mofo."

The laughing gets even louder.

Spinelli and Vince this time both shout, "get 'em!"

"You pencil stache, a-face-only-a-mother-could-love, heil-Hitler-Nazi-dick...tator-looking, mofo," Troy says, as he keeps going.

Everyone in the hallway together shout, "get 'em!"

"You piss stained shirt, sharpie shaped eyebrow-ed, wrinkly-scrotum-ball-sack-on-your-fivehead-looking, mofo."

"Get 'em!"

"You old ass, practically blind near sighted, with a tag-along-hoochie-brown-bag-side-piece-having, mofo."

"Get 'em!"

"You X Files alien scrounging, flat pancake faced, crow feet wrinkly slant eyed, zero-'oclock-shadow-on-the-egghead-circumferencing-all-the-way-around-the-bald—"

"Gentlemen!" Slicer shouts, having held back all his aggression. "Fun and games are over. Adults and order are back in effect."

"Pfft," Troy blows, waving his arm. "I don't even need to sizzle you. TJ. Tell him."

Everyone turns to me. I grip my backpack tight. Slicer fixes his cold stare on me. What do I do? I defy him one more time the punishments will come. I'll turn into a blubbering mess, he says. I'll puke out my guts just thinking about it, he says. Everyone has been waiting and are scattering their eyes at each other. Slicer half smiles.

"Um...um," I mutter out loud. I look down at my sneakers and back up smiling. "We're not scared of you. We take care of our school. We run this. We've done uniforms already, been there, done that, but it didn't quite work out. Regulation haircuts aren't gonna fly either, Slice-y baby. We're our own society. We've taken out the B.O.E before, we'll do it again. So just try us, and see what happens."

Slicer leaves.

Everyone comes up to me one at a time giving me kudos and pats on the back. After all the praise, I walk off down the hallway. I'm all alone. I stand still and take in a huge breath in and out. What's gonna happen next? I gotta get rid of him as soon as I can.

The PA system switches on. " _Can Principal TJ make his way to his office, thank you,_ " Menlo voice goes.

I move up to the principal's office.

With a pause, I twist the knob and go inside.

Menlo and Slicer are there waiting for me. Getting closer, Slicer pushes a paper across the desk. It's the resignation sheet to not make me the principal anymore. I read it from front to back. Thaddeus T. Third didn't read it himself, if I remember. I can learn from his mistake.

I take several minutes looking it over with Menlo. They're aren't that many words and sentences on it.

I pick up a pen.

Menlo asks, "are you sure you're ready?" to me.

"A deals a deal," I say, hovering the pen over the dotted line. I lean into Menlo's ear and whisper, _"don't worry. I'll enjoy humiliating him later."_

Menlo laughs.

I sign the resignation paper.

Slicer looks at it for a minute, folds it up, and puts it inside his suit pocket.

"Hey!" Menlo shouts, stopping him. "You have to sign it in front of me as I'm the witness to the signing."

Slicer takes the resignation paper back out from inside his suit, and leans it on the table. He hovers his pen over the dotted line, his hand planted over the other half that covers my signature. He stops. He looks at me. He smiles. I feel queasy. Slicer rips the paper into pieces and drops it on the floor.

"All right Theodore," Slicer says. "You can be principal."

"Huh?" Menlo gasps.

"What?" I ask.

Menlo gasps out loud again and puts his hand up for me in a high five. Slicer must be up to something. But what? The resignation paper remains torn up in pieces on the floor. Slicer makes his way out of the office again. The office that remains mine. I'm still in charge.

"You gonna leave me hanging?" Menlo asks me with his hand still up in the air.

"No," I reply. "Never."

I give my friend a very late high five.

* * *

 **With great power comes great irresponsibility.** That's the motto. Well, it has been for the first week. Nowadays this principal stuff isn't what it's cracked up to be. Detentions are at an all time high. Grades are at an all time low. And to top it all off, I'm being audited by the IRS. Whatever that means.

Gretchen comes into my office. She doesn't knock. I'm completely swamped with my phone ringing off my desk. I must have eight people on the line.

"What'chu got for me, Gretch?" I ask her, putting my phone slightly away from my ear.

"The dinner ladies are on strike," Gretchen tells me.

My phone goes off in my ear and the person says, _"hello Principal Detweiler, this is the Arkansas post mail service, asking what you want do with this backlog of over a thousand textbooks you per-ordered?_ "

Must be Third's work. We only use comic books here.

I put her on hold. Kinda. Make that _nine_ people on the line.

"What?" I ask Gretchen, as she waits for my attention. "Why?"

"They're feeling unfulfilled because of the latest fast food arrangement," Gretchen explains.

"This isn't a five star restaurant, Gretch. This is high school. Just tell 'em I'll give them all a pay rise. They're still working at the after school bar, right?"

"Yes, but—"

I cut her off. I don't mean to. The lady in my ear is on my case.

Without knocking, Kumiko comes in to my office.

"Principal TJ," Kumiko starts, standing next to Gretchen, "the tech kids and I require microcrontroller boards, and some simple crudmuncher cryogenic liquid hydrogen."

Putting the phone down a little, I reply, "I'll see what I can do."

Seeming satisfied, Kumiko makes a rare smile and leaves straight back out again.

The person on the phone hangs up. Wait. They must've been too impatient, or they took what I just said to Kumiko and thought I was talking to them, or—

"You can't keep buying stuff without putting it in the books," Gretchen nags.

"You saying I make bad decisions?" I reply, dropping the phone on the desk, droning in a dial tone.

"Well, logically, no ones gonna get anything done in a 15 minute lesson."

"Well, technically, no ones gonna be _awake_ _enough_ for anything longer than a 15 minute lesson."

"I'm just saying," Gretchen says, walking slightly closer to my desk, "you should think about these things before making them a rule."

"Look," I say, sighing. "You're a brain. I'm an ideas guy. Just be a good best friend and do my homework for me."

I chuck my science notebook by her feet.

"Do it yourself!" she blasts. "I'm done helping you!"

Gretchen turns around and reaches for the door.

"Fine!" I reply. "And don't invent any scientific breakthroughs on your way out!"

She exits my office with a slam.

I rub my temple hard, mumbling, " _I try to help people and this is the thanks I get._ "

Menlo comes in as soon as Gretchen goes out. "Someone fell off the the rock climbing wall again," he says.

"Your old folks, when they had you, they gave you knuckles, didn't they?" I ask, slowly lifting my head back up.

"Yeah," he replies.

"So use 'em. Knock first."

Menlo gives me a _sorry_ just from a look. He leaves the room, then knocks on the door.

"Come in," I say, as he walks in. "Oh hey Menlo, old buddy, old pal. You got something good for me to hear?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bummers, but the hypebeasts and the celebrities are making a fashion show in the gym," Menlo goes.

"Order safety mats and some bubble—what now?" I ask, getting off my chair. "Fashion show? Only _I_ can make those type of decisions."

The bell rings for last period.

I've been working all day. I need a break.

I tap Menlo on his stomach, and lead him out of my office as I go to my lesson. Using the rock climbing wall, no less. Someone thought it would be funny to draw a body marking on the ground by the climbing wall, like a crime scene, of where that person must've hurt themselves. There's even an abandoned sneaker from that person who got hurt.

It's sixth period mathematics. You already know, my chums. It's not just any mathematics, it's TJ mathematics. Video game algorithms.

Mr Tenebaum turns on the Ultra box infinity console as the classical tune chimes to the start up screen, and the booting up of the game. And it's like, for a moment, as if some great eagle has flown into the classroom. And I feel all the little hairs on the back my neck stand up. And the shivers crawling up feel like I've been bitten by a radioactive creature. Because I know what he's playing. It's a mission from Super Murder Degrees VI.

"Procedural generation," Mr Tenebaum explains, as he demonstrates with the game, "whereby a game's landscape is generated not by an artist's pen but by an algorithm. It's increasingly prevalent in video games—"

"Hey!" Mikey yells, not even putting his hand up. "Class is over! It's been fifteen—!"

I suck my two index fingers in my mouth. All wet and gross, I poke them directly into Mikey's ears. I really dive and twist them around his ear drums, making him squirm and shiver.

"Urgh!" Mikey yells holding his ears. He turns to me. "Why'd you do that?"

"For being an ass with no manners," I say, as I nod my head for Mr Tenebaum to carry on. "Without a hint of an idea on how to conduct yourself in a classroom."

The class falls silent. They're shocked I would attack Mikey with a surprise-wet-willy like that. Vince and Spinelli, whose in my class too, watch on. Mr Tenebaum stays quiet.

"You shouldn't have done that," Mikey wails, with little to no threat in his voice. "And—and, I'm not your friend anymore, and I wouldn't wanna be either."

"Watch it," I warn him. "Watch your mouth, if you still wanna be attending this school."

Spinelli shouts out, "TJ!" sounding pissed off.

"Marbles!" Mikey yells, "great, flippin' marbles to you! I'll brawl with you and mount my weapon against yours. Fight to the last gasp. I'm not having you wet willy my ears for no reason. I won't have it."

Spinelli shouts out, "Mikey!" sounding surprised.

"I'll scrap with you anytime you want," I reply back, still eye-locked on him.

Mikey scatters his eyes away from me. "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah," he says, hanging his head slightly. "I'm a bit tired maybe. It's probably best I don't say anymore."

I can feel Spinelli's critical eyes burning holes into the side of my head.

After an awkward silence, the class continues a little longer until I say so.

Going through the hallway, I go past everyone and I don't stop. Opening my locker, I take out my hockey stick and slam the door back shut.

I head over to the arcade at the Townsedge mall by myself. Picking out games, I speed run through all the levels I can. Driving dirty against cops in driving simulators. Beating up opponents in beat-em-ups till there's nothing left of their face. Spewing out more and more tickets out of the machines. I pull out my string on coin as I continue playing the games for free.

The clerk I'm cool with, rests his arm on the cabinet I'm using. "TJ, buddy," he says, greeting me. "We can't have you do that anymore."

"Huh?" I ask, letting my hands rest.

"I found out you're actually buying stuff from the toy store," he says. "You came here when you _knew_ I wasn't working." He shakes his head. "We had an agreement."

He unplugs my machine.

I move over to another machine. I flick out my string on coin and play something else instead.

The clerk unplugs that.

I push someone whose already using another cabinet and go on that one. I can do this _all_ day.

"Stop it!" he says.

With the bright light of the game shining my face, I ask, "are you gonna make me?"

He smirks and asks, "what?"

Looking away from any game for a long while, I grip my hockey stick and say, "I said. Are you gonna make me?"

More clerks turn up wearing matching Quarter Chaser uniforms. Even bigger tougher staff who are clearly just bodyguards. They sleeves are cut. The arcade task force. Feeling way outnumbered, I walk back out.

I head home. I'm so tightly wound, I feel like anything can friggin' set me off. The arcade light's been burning into my eye sockets. I need some sleep. Once I'm home, I ditch my sneaks and go to the kitchen for a night cap.

What in the hang? The gang. Spinelli, Vince, Mikey, and the other four of them. They're all in my kitchen. They've all been here waiting for me.

"Well, hidey ho, y'all," I say, greeting them all.

"Hey!" they all say back together.

"Hey, our dear friend!" Mikey says cheerily, sat by the table. "Finally!"

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" I say back, chipper than ever, trying to out do him.

"So," Spinelli starts, walking from the back, turning a seat around, then squatting on it. "There we were, waiting and drinking away at the after school bar and you didn't turn up. And we thought you might have been, I dunno, offended by something or whatever. So, we thought we should make a visit to your home."

"I had another pain in the noggin'," I reply, beaming a smile. "I wanted some early shut-eye before I could think of orders to give you guys for tomorrow."

"Sorry about the pain," Mikey says, with a snigger, as he spins on the chair to face me. "Using the noggin' too much, maybe. Giving orders and discipline and other stuff, perhaps. You sure the pain is gone? You sure you'd not be happier not missing your bed time?"

Everyone giggles.

"Let's get things nice and crystal-y clear," I say, walking up to Mikey, sitting on his lap. He stops chuckling. "This sarcasm, if this is what to call it, doesn't suit you, my little chums. As I am your leader, I'm kinda entitled to know what's goes on." I turn my eyes right on him this time. "Now then, Mikey. Like you'd say. What does that great big horsey gaping grin of yours foretell?"

Spinelli gets up from the chair with a loud scrape. "Okay, quit it," she says at me. "You can't pick on Mikey any more like that. That's part of the new way."

"New way?" I ask, still sat on Mikey. "What's this about a new way? You guys have been making changes without me."

"Teej, you think and talk like a little kid sometimes," Spinelli says. "We thought we should pull a _man-sized_ prank."

"Awesome!" I say, getting up on my feet. "The best ideas comes to those who wait. I've taught you much, my little chums." I put my hand on her shoulder, smiling. "Now, tell me what you had in mind, Spin."

Spinelli smiles back.

* * *

As we're walking along Dead man's Dirtpile I'm calm on the outside, but thinking all the time. We're in somewhat of a straight line. I'm off center. Not entirely in the middle. That's where Spinelli is. So now it will be Spinelli the Brawler, saying what we should and shouldn't do, and Mikey the Amicable Hulk to be the non-violent voice of reason. With me to just follow suit like Vince, Troy and all the others in our group. No. _Thinking_ is for the slackers, and what ne'er do well nerds use to pass exams. Actions speak louder. All I can hear in my noggin' is the classical Ultra box infinity home screen music play. My game's booting up. My reality is a video game.

I can see exactly what I need to do.

We reach the creek.

I trip Spinelli with my hockey stick. She falls in the creek. Mikey bolts towards me to, "stop!," but I dodge him. I trip up Vince, I nudge Gus, whose already off balance, as he falls clumsily into the water too. Troy, noticing this fight, whips out his nunchucks and swipes at my head. I duck and push him in the back with the end off my stick. Gretchen, Menlo and Molly watch on with their mouths gasped open.

Mikey flaps around as he tries to get out of the water. I kneel by the creek. Behind my back, I wrap my electronic shock key ring around my finger. I stick my hand out. Mickey reaches for it. I use my hand with the one holding the key ring. Mikey's face lights up. His hair stands on end. Shaking from side to side as countless volts surge through his body.

I let Mikey go as he collapses back into the creek.

* * *

Now they know whose master and leader. _Such sheep!_ But, then again, a real leader always knows when to give back and show his generousness to his peeps.

We're sat in the after school bar. The gang's licking their wounds, so to speak.

"Now we're back to where we were," I say, stern eye at all of them. "Yes? Just like before, and all forgotten? Right, right, right?"

"Right," Troy, Vince, Molly, Menlo, Gretchen and Gus, say, all off kilter.

"Right," Mikey shudders, holding a wet towel around his hand.

"Right," Spinelli agrees, finally, avoiding my eye contact for dear life.

I grin wide. "Well, Spin, this idea of yours for tonight," I say, trying to perk her back up. "Tell us all about it, then. We'd all love to hear it."

"Not tonight," she mutters back straight away.

" _Come on_ , Spin," I reply. "You're a _big_ , _strong,_ _rough rouser_ like the rest of us. We're not little kids anymore, are we, Spins-ter?" Spinelli scorns her eyebrows at that. "What idea do you have?"

Troy with his hair all soppy, chuckles, and says, "Spinster is a good nickname for you," at Spinelli.

Spinelli goes, "shut up, Troy," turning at him.

"No," Gretchen says. "I have to agree with my egregious friend. When you look at how that word is defined, it relates to the person we're pranking."

"Rhymes too," Mikey mentions.

I stare around at them all. They all seem to be on to something I'm not.

"So, you all already know what this is?" I ask.

They all nod together.

"Okay, Spinny," I say at Spinelli, smiling wide. "Spill."

Spinelli sulks back.

* * *

We sneak up to Miss Finster's house with our Pseudonymous masks on. It's an apartment block. Her house seems to be on the lower landing.

I knock on her door.

After a while I hear Finster ask, "whose that, knocking my door down at this ungodly hour?"

"Excuse me..." I start, as I move lower down to the cat flap, lifting it up so that she can hear me more clearer. "Excuse me, but can you please help? We need to use a restroom right now before my friend has an accident on himself!"

"I wasn't born yesterday, bucko," she jeers.

Clearly.

"There's a toilet in a gas station about ten blocks away," she goes on. "I suggest you use that and leave me alone."

"But ma'am!" I plead, still kneeling by the cat flap. "This is an emergency! You have to help! It's a matter of life and death! His kidneys are gonna pop!"

"Yours will too if you don't skedaddle off my property in ten seconds," she starts, "Ten, nine..."

"Okay, okay, ma'am, we're going," I say, moving away. "But his organ explosion's gonna be on _your_ hands!"

We move around the back part of her apartment. Mikey gives me a boost inside. I crawl through the AC vent. It leads to Finster's bedroom. I crash land on the carpet. There's a picture of her in this Hawaiian dress when she was younger. I hate to say it, but centuries ago when this photo was taken, she didn't look half bad.

I tip toe through her apartment. I'm in her hallway. There's a whole bunch of generic plant pictures hanging on portraits, some actual plants in pots, and a few cats walking around, minding their own business.

I enter another door.

"Hey, hey, hey, there," I say, noticing her in this living room area. "At last we meet. Our brief conversation through the cat flap wasn't quite up to snuff."

"Who are you?" Finster asks, as she puts her phone down from her ears. "How the hell did you get in here? What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"Wow, wow, wow," I say, looking around at the room, "I knew getting old means getting boring, but this is _ridiculous_."

"Now listen here, you little miscreant!" she shouts. "Just turn that tush back round and walk out of here the same way you came in."

There's a tiny hula girl toy on her mantle. I knock it. It's starts to dance.

"Leave that alone!" she rages, "don't touch it! It's a very delicate piece of memorabilia from Guam." She turns back to me. "What the bloody hell do you want?"

"To be perfectly honest, ma'am," I start, leaning by her mantelpiece. "I'm taking part in my high school drive to see who can get the most points for collecting _toys_."

"Cut the crap, sonny, and get out of here before you get yourself into serious trouble," she warns, poking her finger.

I flick the hula girl toy again.

"I told you to leave that alone!" she shouts, "now get out of here before I _throw_ you out!"

She moves up to me, rolling her sleeves up. I move away from her and around the room.

"Wretched, cretin!" she moans, as she takes swipes at me.

She throws her pillows. I dodge them. She continues throwing her own stuff at me to slow me down.

She goes, "I'll teach you to break into other people's houses!"

I run around the coffee table as she chases me. A one-on-one Duck Duck Goose.

"Flaming little scoundrel!" she roars, as she can't reach me.

I spin around and reach her kitchen.

 _THUD!_ There's a loud crash. I slowly enter the living room again. Finster's laying spread out on the floor. What happened? There's marbles on the carpet. They're mine. The marbles must've fallen out of my pocket when I was running.

"Ha!" I say.

But she's not moving.

"Hey...hey, Finster?" I ask.

She's not moving. Both her eyes are shut.

"Miss Finster are you all right?...it was just a goof."

There's sirens outside. This looks bad. I take my mask off walking backwards, as I leave through the front door.

I'm outside. My friends are just standing there.

"Let's go," I say, jogging up to them. "The police are coming!"

"One minute, Teej-ster," Spinelli says, her arms cutely held behind her back.

 _Crack!_ Spinelli smashes her right fist on my nose with her hard candy duster. I fall on my knees, holding my face.

"You assholes!" I shout, "my nose! You broke my nose, you assholes! I can't see!"

The gang run away laughing.

This was all a ruse. I should of known. Spinelli and Finster are really chummy, ever since she spent a weekend with her once. I should have known she would never wanna hurt her.

I hear Menlo say, "we can't leave him."

"Come on, man," Vince, I hear say, as he takes Menlo away as the police sirens get louder. "Let's go."

* * *

I'm sat in a smaller part of the police station. The plaster on my nose has stopped the bleeding but it's still hurting like hell. Spinelli's right hook is as mean as her attitude. I'm still being interrogated by a couple of officers. All their words are flying past me as I sit leaning by the wall. They keep asking me to give up the names of the people in my gang. I keep my lips tight. I know the law. They're not gonna make me squeal on myself or anyone else.

Dr Slicer comes into the room I'm being interrogated in.

"Good evening, Sergeant," Slicer says, to one of them, "good evening, all." He stops and stares down at me. "Oh dear! This boy does look a mess, doesn't he? Just look at the state of him." He talks directly to me. "This is the end of the line for me. The end of the line, yes. I'll take over now."

"And what about _me_ , sir?" I ask, too spent to stand up yet. "Speak up for me. I'm not so bad."

Slicer laughs to himself and says, "you are now a felon, little Theodore. A felon."

"That's not true, sir," I say. "You're just trying to scare me. Miss Finster can handle it. She just slipped, I swear."

I'm telling the truth. But for some reason it feels like a bad lie. The whole room can feel it.

"I've just come from the hospital," Slicer says, still in a light mood. "Muriel Finster is in critical condition."

"I refuse," I say, out in a rush. "I—I won't sign the thingy. So there."

"You mean _this?_ " Slicer asks, digging his hand inside his jacket.

He takes out the resignation paper. It's got my real signature on it. All the scratchy curves of my handwriting. Not forged at all like a typical kid's sick note.

"But you ripped it up," I say, trying to rack my brain. "I saw you. How'd...?"

I stop. Slicer gives me room to breath and think. _Wait!_ That's what he does, isn't it? He lets me become the villain of my own downfall. _Sneaky!_ That day. When we we're signing that paper, he put it in his jacket before Menlo told him to take it back out. He took it back out again before he ripped it up. Even his hand was covering my signature. That's why he did that. There was nothing there. It was a different sheet entirely. _Wow!_ Well played.

"Well," I say, trying not to stumble. "That's not good enough." Slicer raises his eyebrows in shock. "Where I'm from, if we're exchanging a personal possession, making a pinky swear, or _changing a position of power_ , we have to spit shake on it."

"Seriously?" Slicer says, with a straight face, only this time the officers are the ones laughing at me. "That's your little game? Well, that sounds completely vile, unsanitary and unnecessary, but, all right."

Dr Slicer spits on his palm. I initiate the shake, finding my right hand to do the same thing. Slicer smacks his hand on my face. He smears his spit soaked hand from my forehead straight down to my mouth. I didn't see that coming. I didn't _feel_ that coming. The blood begins to rush into a blush on to my face. But. Somehow. I feel it fade, and hold my own. I show verve and just smile back at Dr Slicer with the spit still laying on my face.

This is a pretty messed up evolution.

Knighting the next King of the playground.

And now this.

* * *

 **It's Thursday,** so if Slicer makes some throwback of a 'Funny Boy', or a 'Captain Sappy' origami paper hat to give me, then I'll really give him something to mope about.

I enter school. An alarm goes off. Turning around, there's a metal detector arching over the entrance.

A B.O.E officer, without even a fair howdy-do, forces me to move outside of a room on the lower floor. The top half of the door is missing, sort of like how the AV room was in Third Street, and a new teacher appears on the other side.

That officer moves inside that room. "From this moment on, you will address all officers and teachers as _sir,_ " he says, with the window part open, "all right, empty out your pockets."

I walk up to the half open door and drop my keys on it's sill.

"Are you able to see the white line painted on the floor directly behind you?" The B.O.E officer barks at me.

On closer look there's a white line taped a few inches in front of the door. I pick my keys back up. Move back, and I stretch my body from behind the line and plop my keys down for the new teacher.

"One bunch of keys on an electronic key ring," he says out loud as I place each item. "One packet of cigarette candy. Two bags of firecrackers, made in China. One quarter coin piece connected with string. One Señor Fusion watch, blue. One Cyborg cellphone, silver. Anything else in your pockets?"

"No, sir," I reply.

Another B.O.E officer gives me a quick pat down as I'm told to spread my feet apart and stretch out my arms on the wall.

I'm told that all my things will be confiscated until the school day is over when I will need to collect them later.

I walk away and inside my tutor class. It's empty in here. I sit all the way by the side where I would sit with Mikey and Spinelli behind me. There's no Miss Milkie and none of the other students.

I sigh and just wait.

I get up.

Opening the door, I stroll around the school. Matter of fact, it's completely empty. I'm the only student here. The officers are still down the hall. They don't seem concerned about me, all though, considering they confiscated all my stuff, I probably pose no threat.

I wonder.

Going to my locker, I open it up. Just what I suspected. All my pranking gadgets have been taken. It's been wiped clean except for my new textbooks. Closing it up again, I walk around the school a bit more. There's builders on harnesses, removing the rocks from the climbing wall and filling up the gaps.

Going up to a vending machine, I push the button. Nothings happening. I push it again. _Damn it!_ It's back to costing money to have a soda again.

I kick the side of it.

"TJ Detweiler?"

I turn to see yet another new teacher.

"We're expecting you," he says, "please follow me."

Having one last look at the high school under construction, I follow that teacher. I enter a classroom. The teacher sits behind the desk. The B.O.E officer that was giving me a hard time, is there waiting for me. There's another white line a few inches in front of the desk. I know the drill.

"Okay," the teacher starts, tapping his folder on his table. "TJ Detweiler." He takes a moment looking over his papers. "I'm sure you've made your decision by now, haven't you?"

"Decision?" I ask.

The officer goes, "address Mr Mann as _sir!_ "

Mr Mann? _Ha!_ Yeah. _Sure._

"Decision, sir?" I ask again.

Mr Mann stops adjusting his folder. "Hasn't anybody told you yet?" he asks. I stand still and shake my head. "You're being charged with a felony so therefore you are getting expelled, as of this morning, I believe."

"But sir, that's not—"

The officer shouts, "you'll speak when spoken to!"

Mr Mann continues, "on usual circumstances you'd stand trial and await sentencing, but you've been given a choice. You can either get charged with a felony today, get expelled from Thaddeus T. Third high, and go back to juvie with the officer ready to escort you right now, or, you can take part in the Slicer technique."

I take turns looking at the officer and the teacher, giving him a look.

"What's the question, TJ?" Mr Mann asks, sensing my plea.

"What's the Slicer technique...sir?" I ask.

"Well," Mr Mann starts, taking a breath, "I honestly do not know. Apparently, it's a technique Dr Slicer has devised that will hopefully one day reduce overcrowding in juvenile detention centers and cut down on teenager malevolence."

I stand quiet and think. I can't let Slicer punish me on purpose, can I?

"You should have decided by now," Mr Mann continues, "you have no time if you haven't."

I cover my face. _Fine!_ Mr Mann motions the paper indicating the Slicer technique and I nod to that. I take Mr Mann's pen as I lean behind the line. I read the paper for a second.

The officer shouts, "don't read it! Sign it!"

I write my signature on it. All I got from the sheet were the words, _'right to rewire your brain.'_ That sure sounds promising.

The officer escorts me outside of the school. He leads me to the accommodation building. As we enter, there's no sign of any other students staying here. All the tech kids are gone. I'm told to sit on a bed.

A woman this time enters. I recognize her. She's with Slicer all the time. With a smile she sits on a chair in-front of me. A nurse follows her holding a plate with something on it.

She introduces herself as Gilda. My Vice principal. Slicer's assistant.

The B.O.E officer has left. I feel like I have a little more freedom.

"What happened to the tech kids?" I ask her.

"Hm?" Gilda replies, confused. "I don't know _what_ or _who_ you are talking about."

"Okay look," I start, "there's these group of teens at this school who are always inventing stuff, you know? With Kumiko Kazama? They're all from Japan."

"Oh," Gilda gasps, as soon as I mention Japan. "That's where they went back to. They went to Japan for the year. The rest of the AP science club are going there to partake on a year long foreign exchange trip too." She looks up her notes. "At the very beginning of November I believe."

That must mean Gretchen is going to Japan too. I'm gonna need her. The whole gang will. The gang. They must all hate me.

"In a few minutes you'll meet Dr. Slicer and begin your treatment," Gilda explains, "you're a very lucky boy to have been chosen."

"Yeah," I sigh, leaning back on the bed. "I realize that. I'm very grateful. I know what I've done wrong."

"We're going to be friends, aren't we, TJ?" she asks.

That makes me sit up. It sounds wrong. "I hope so, ma'am," I reply. The nurse beside her has a bottle and a needle she's holding. "What's that serum-y stuff for? Sending me to sleep?"

"Nothing of the sort," Gilda replies.

The nurse pushes the needle down into that clear liquid-y stuff.

"What's it for, then?" I ask. "Some vaccine?"

"Not quite," she replies, "you're undernourished on sweets and sodas, so after each meal, we'll give you a shot. You've had breakfast this morning, didn't you?" I nod back. "Good. Now, roll over on your right side. Loosen your jeans and pull them halfway down."

"I'm sorry, what?"

She repeats herself.

 _Okay then._ I do what I'm told. This can't be any worse than when Mom sticks the rectal thermometer up my—whoa, it's over before I know it, as the nurse moves the needle away again. I feel weird. For obvious reasons.

I pull my pants back up and ask, "what exactly is this treatment going to be, then?"

"It's quite simple, really," Gilda says, "we're going to show you some films."

"You mean like going to the movies?"

"Something like that."

"Cool. I like to watch the odd film now and again. My favorite ones, I usually watch them over and over again until I'm sick of 'em."

"That's good. That's very good to hear, TJ."

* * *

I enter my first class. It's empty. Obviously. Kinda got the feeling I'm not gonna be learning any social studies.

I take a seat right at the back of class, and lean my chair against the wall. The door knob twists. Slicer enters.

"Up," Slicer orders, coming towards me.

I stand up to him.

He looks back at me with a feint smile. His smile goes away. "Well?" he says, moving me out of the way, and taking the seat I was using. "To the front."

I slowly waddle to the front of class and take a seat at a desk. Looking closer, there's large speakers at the front of the classroom. Mega digital sound. I spin around on my chair back at Slicer.

"How you s'posed to teach from back there?" I ask him.

Slicer wheezes out a laugh. A long laugh. It's infectious. I feel my own lips almost twitch into a grin, but I fight it.

"Thank you," Slicer says, winding down from his long chuckle. "l haven't laughed like that in a long time."

Before I can really absorb this distance between us, some science guys in long white trench coats come in. They come in one after the other. Taking up the whole back row. Gilda follows and takes the empty seat next to Slicer.

Another science guy straps me on to my chair. I can't move. A virtual reality headset is placed on my dome. This looks like the ones that work in video games.

I'm in a 3D room. You know, another 3D room. Solid blue walls with white lines giving the impression that it is three dimensional. It's like this room could go on and on forever. Procedural generation.

A cheery looking gal walks on to the screen, or just in front of me, I guess. Old enough to be my teacher, but young enough for me to have a crush on. I don't. But I'm just saying.

"Hey there, _Theodore_ , and welcome to the Slicer technique," she says, stretching her arms out. When my names mentioned it sounds like a glitch, her mouth hangs open as my name's dubbed. "Please keep your eyes open while we scan your eyes."

My headset slightly rumbles. A bright light shines my eyes from top to bottom. Twice. I'm blind. I blink my eyes back to normal once it's over.

"Now, please keep your eyes open as long you can, and don't get tempted to shut your eyes from anything you're seeing. You _can_ blink. But if you do choose to close your eyes for longer than three seconds then... _Zap!_ You'll be shocked by more than 20,000 volts of electricity directly in to your skull."

I gasp out, "what the—?"

"Are you ready?" the lady simulator asks.

I don't say anything more. I watch her wait patiently for me to speak.

Slicer goes, "nod your head please!" at me, from the back of the class.

I nod, unable to move my body any other way anyway.

"Cool," she says with a big smile. "Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy this showcase made especially for you, _Theodore._ "

The blue room disappears.

Now, I'm in what looks like the real world. Full HD 1080 pixels, if I had to guess. I'm in an alley way with another person, probably senior age, being filmed by a third person on a camera.

"Hi," I hear my person in my point of view say towards the camera, "so today we're gonna be pranking some unsuspecting people."

His friend says, "we're gonna be asking people if they want us to _pop_ them."

"What they don't know is that we mean..." my point of view says, as he takes out a _soda pop_ from his back pocket. He hands it to his friend. "You wanna pop, bro?"

"Sure," his friend replies.

"Don't forget to hit that like and subscribe for more."

I sigh saying, "Oh my gawd."

I hear, "focus, Theodore," from Slicer's voice.

Why waste a perfectly good VR on this crap?

The virtual reality continues as me and my friend go up to people asking them if they want a "pop." Most of the reactions are hints of confusion, annoyance and then relief when they realize it's a joke and just a play on words. "Pop," can also mean to start a fight or something.

Now my protagonist, I'm looking through the eyes of, goes up to some tough looking guys. They're in wife beaters, with tattoos and snapback hats. This is gonna go well.

"Wassup guys," my person says to them.

The gang of guys nod back uninterested.

"So, I've been looking at the way you guys have been looking at me, bro. It looks like you want a little _pop_."

Before my person can react, a swinging fist comes across his face, which feels like I'm taking it.

"It's just a prank, bro! It's a prank!" my protagonist is pleading, as he tries to pull out his little can of soda from his back pocket.

The fists turn to kicks and I'm down. My so-called friends try to stop it but they are getting beaten up too. My protagonist hands over the soda with his blooded hands and a gang member takes it. Heck, they take all the money that's on me.

I'm fading to black. Game over? Am I dead?

 _Okay._ This is pretty funny. I don't do pranks like theses though. People like this are just looking for trouble. Typical adults jump to conclusions and think that I'm the type of person to record myself on Yourvidz. At least my pranks are actually thought out with code names and coordinates and such.

I can't move in my chair, but I don't care. What's next.

Now, it looks like I'm in the point of view of being hid in a closet.

"She should be back from work any minute," my prankster says to himself.

He looks out the creek of the closest. There's a girl going by. That must be his girlfriend or wife or something. He gets out. With a brief look at his reflection in the mirror he sees himself. He's got me dressed in a pretty scary Halloween mask, with cuts, scaring, looking all ghoulish and stuff.

He creeps up to her. She hasn't noticed him. Probably because there's some noise coming from the big open window she has open.

"Boo!" I hear my prankster shout at her.

"Aaah!" she screams, spinning around.

Her immediate reaction is kicking him, kicking me, out of the window.

I'm falling backwards. This apartment is high up. This is death height, that's for sure. I'm seeing myself fall helplessly to my death. I'm gonna make contact to the ground and— _Whoa!_

It cuts to black again. This is feeling too real. I'm not like any of these people, but for a few minutes, I'm seeing what they must of seen before they croaked the fat one.

Now, I'm outside tagging cars. I'm recording myself again.

"So, what the people don't know is that," my point of view says, demonstrating on his friend as nothing is left on him, "this is _fake_ spray paint."

My point of view waits for someone to get out of the store and into their car. With them close by, he pretends to tag their car with spray paint.

"Hey!" that car owner shouts, "what are you doing to my car?"

He runs after me, ignoring his car that's actually spotless. He pulls out a crowbar from the trunk of his car. I'm running away laughing. A truck blares out it's horns. I turn my head. _Crack!_ In full motion my skull cracks. My body gets mauled over by the truck like Play Doh. Looking down at my body, my intestines are spilled all over on the road. _Well, that sucks!_ Another car comes hurtling towards me—And it switches back to the blue and white room again.

 _Aah!_ I felt that. The hundred pound tonnes of truck. I felt it. It's like a feeling of being sick made me feel an actual pain almost. This is not fun anymore. It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you view them on a close-up screen like this.

The woman who gave the tutorial is telling me something, but I'm not hearing her anymore. I can just feel my ear ringing from the last movie, as my stomach churns.

I'm transported to the mall. Not the Townsedge one, but somewhere else in America.

This fourth simulation seems to be completely different. I'm being recorded by a friend again, but this time the cameras hidden and instead of pranking he's going up to a girl and asking, "excuse me, my phone's broken, can you fix it?"

"How would I fix it?" the girl replies.

"It needs your number in it," my guy replies, as I see myself take an iCell out.

"Does that ever work?" she asks back.

"Not really," my person says, "but—"

"Why don't you take your sorry-ass pickup lines, and your stupid friend recording this, and just walk away. Better yet, let me ask you a question, what kind of car do you drive?"

"Um..."

"That's what I thought. You thought it would be cool to spend a day outside of your mom's basement from playing video games and drinking energy drinks all day, and actually talk to a girl, but know you're about to find out that you're still totally a weirdo that will never ever get a girlfriend."

This keeps going on in the mall. Chatting to another girl. Then another. When it came to the sixth or seventh girl rejecting me, calling me a creep, it begins to feel too much.

I don't know what this guy I'm in the perspective of looks like, so, for all I know he could look just like me. This is like some psychological bullying.

I feel really sick.

I close my eyes. _Whoa!_ I'm surged back up. My heart jolts. My teeth grind together. The straps stop me jumping off my chair. That's what it feels to get zapped with electricity, huh? Mikey...I'm so so sorry.

It's too cringey. The bad pick up lines, the girls rejecting me right up in my face, it's as if they're talking to me.

 _I know_ this is not real. I wanna prove it to myself, but I can't shut my eyes. I'm not allowed to. I blink a little slower. _Fuu-!_ Volts shock my system again. Even if I try to move my eyes around, everything that's interacting with me moves along with my eyes. I look away. The girl follows my eyes and literally pulls her hand across my face to focus back on her. An endless cut scene. There's no way to get out of the line of fire of this movie.

I feel like drinking bleach because it's so cringey.

 _Stop being mean to me!_

"Get me up!" I shout, over what I'm hearing from the speakers. "I'm going to be sick! Get something for me to be sick in!"

I shake my head, with everything around following at my eye level. _I'm living this day-mare!_ I've fallen into a sunken place.

I hear Slicer say, "very soon now, the drug will cause the subject to experience a deathlike paralysis together with deep feelings of terror and helplessness," as he acts like I'm some mouse in a maze he's observing. "One of our early test subjects described it as feeling like dying. A sense of sinking or drowning. And it is during this period, we have found that the subject will make his most rewarding associations between his catastrophic experience, environment and the malevolence he sees."

After what feels like forever-and-an-hour, the lesson finishes.

The pranking and pick-up fails kept switching back and forth. Getting more gruesome and more humiliating each time around.

My head feels looser and lighter with my VR helmet taken off. The normal light of the classroom almost makes me jump. Turning around, Slicer is in deep conversation with his fellow scientists. Gilda is right beside him, hurriedly taking down notes on her clipboard.

* * *

I've been a given a break. At least, I think so. I'm sat on my bed in accommodation, _not_ being force fed messed up movies into my mind.

Gilda makes here way inside my open door. I turn to face her. I must've been staring at this blank wall for a while.

"Dr. Slicer is pleased with you," Gilda says, pulling up a chair and resting her notes on her lap. "You've made a very positive response. Tomorrow there will be six sessions. Four in the morning and two in the afternoon, and then the day after that."

"That's the weekend," I reply, snapping myself back up. "Now what a minute. You mean, I have to watch those messed up movies six times in _one_ day?"

"There are six periods in a typical day at Thaddeus High school, aren't there?"

I stop. I stare back at the wall. Boy, it does feel more of a relief staring at this blank wall than—

"Look at me," Gilda starts, not continuing until I stare back at her, "I'd imagine you'll feel fatigued by the end of the day, but we have to be hard on you. You have to be cured. Your misbehaving malevolence is bad and you have to learn that."

She studies my face for a second.

"You're finished for the day," she says.

I don't know whether she's taking pity on me, or that's just the original plan.

"You can't go back home," she continues, "you're still being charged for breaking and entering and assault. You're not entitled for any parole either. The only way you can clear your name and become a student at this school again is to do _exactly_ as we say."

* * *

 **My decapitated head stops rolling and comes to a stop.** Another prank that has gone horribly wrong.

Everything changes as the whole place turns brighter. Almost cartoon-y. Moving my head up, in the sky there's a menu popping up. What _is_ that? Just below the clouds there are white little formations. A logo for the internet. Settings. Press start to play. I've seen this before. Those just aren't clouds forming shapes. That's the home menu screen on the Ultra Box. The classical tune is playing. It's the start up screen. The game is booting up.

That means...I'm _in_ the video game.

I'm in a city. Cars are getting run off the road. It's going haywire all around me. People are screaming. Cops are chasing after criminals. Pedestrians are getting run over. _Splat!_ Blood splatters on my face. Someone beside me got shot in the head. I'm just a bystander to all of this.

I should be totally stoked. I'm actually inside Super Murder Degrees VI.

I'm feeling woozy. Violence has never made me feel this way before. Maybe this medicine tampered with everything that's happening to me. The music. The classical music is playing again. It's coming from everywhere. _Ugh!_ I feel beyond sick. What once made me feel warm inside has made me feel completely toxic. The slow horns and strings of the orchestra are making me want to jump out of a window. The window. The classroom. I'm not really here, am I?

"Stop it!" I shout out. "Stop it! Please, I beg you! This is evil! This beyond-beyond evil!

"Evil?" Gilda voice faintly asks from somewhere, "what's all this about being evil?"

"That!" I exclaim, hearing nothing but the classic Ultra Box as people are dying around me. "Using the Ultra Box like that! The creators did no harm to anyone! They just added the music for the home screen!"

"Are you referring to the background score?" Gilda asks.

"Yes!"

"You've heard of the Ultra box infinity's classic musical loop before?"

"Yes!"

Slicer voice this time asks, "so you're keen on video games?"

"Yes!" I say.

"Can't be helped," Slicer voice goes with a sigh, "here's the punishment element perhaps," that sounds like he's talking to someone else rather than me.

There's a pause.

A car hits me in a hit-and-run.

Wasted.

I reappear. My body blinks a few times. I've spawned outside of the nearest hospital. I felt that death. It's like the sickness is making everything feel like I'm physically dying. And what's worse is that there's no end to it. I keep resurrecting.

I'm holding on to anything from them now. Anything to tear me out of this reality. Anything.

The menu screen music that's supposed to be soothing is playing everywhere.

"I'm sorry, Theodore," Slicer voice says, finally. "This is for your own good. You'll have to bear with us for a while."

"But it's not fair, w-w-wait, lem-lemme finish!" I say, slipping through my own words. "It's not fair I should feel ill when I hear that lovely, lovely Ultra Box theme tune."

"You must take your chance, boy. The choice has been all yours."

"You don't need to take this any further, sir. You've proved your point. Malevolence and pranking is wrong. It's wrong, wrong, so terribly, terribly wrong! I get it. I've learned my lesson, sir. I'm cured now! Praise Fusion! I'm cured!"

"You're not cured yet, boy."

"But, sir. Ma'am! I see that it's wrong! It's wrong because it's, like, against society. Because everybody has the right to live and be happy without being harassed and pranked!"

"No, no. You really must leave that to us. Remember, you're so lucky to be doing this. You don't have to worry about homework, exams or even choosing colleges. All you have to do right now is sit down and watch these films. In less than a few hours now, you'll be a free man."

It hits me.

That sounds almost exactly what I said to Becky.

There's a word for this. I know there is. I just can't think of what it is.

* * *

 **I'm the center of attention, but I don't wanna be.** Light shines on me. I'm on a stage. The school auditorium to be exact. All the teachers from school new and old, some B.O.E officers, and people of the board are in the audience.

Slicer comes on to the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you, the subject," he says, gently gripping my shoulder. "He is in shape, well-nourished, and comes well alert after a full night sleep. He's undrugged, unhypnotised, and tomorrow we will send him back out into the world where he will attend this very school to study, as well behaved as any other _decent smart goal-driven_ young adult." He walks towards the audience slightly. "Now, what change is there, do you ask? From a horrid hoodlum committing several offenses, one-sided pranks that only he and his friends would find amusing that caused public vandalism, fighting, and very recently, house trespassing, he has now done more than just learn the sorrows of his ways. He can no longer find it in himself to do any of these atrocious acts ever again." Slicer moves around as the light follows him. "He's been in reform before. Under circumstances that weren't his own, I might add. Superintendent Tad White's attempt to restore law and order by deceiving everyone. However as you can see, it's done very little to change him...however, thankfully that has lead him to me. My team promised to restore law and order properly, and to make the streets safe for the ordinary peace-loving citizen. This pledge is now about to become a reality. Ladies and gentlemen, today is an historic moment. The problem of teenager malevolence is soon to be a thing of the past. But enough of words. Let us demonstrate."

Slicer moves away. I feel uneasy. I'm not getting attached to him, am I? Must be the same kinda thing when you begin to like your capturer.

A man I've never seen before comes on to the stage. "Hello," he says to me, smiling, "you filthy little lowlife."

"What?" I reply, turning around for help from Slicer or anyone for direction.

" _What?_ " that mean adult mimics, "is that how you talk back to your elders? Better yet, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I bet you make her life a nightmare, you piece of dirt." He pushes me in the shoulder.

"Why did you do that, sir?" I ask, feeling my shoulder. "I've done nothing wrong to you."

"Well, you see, I do this," he says, pushing me again, "and that," he pushes me harder, "and this," he punches me this time, "because I don't like your horrible type. Self entitled teenagers. Only memorizing the bill of rights when it benefits you."

Someone else comes on stage. This scientist woman has my backpack. She shows it to the audience. She takes out all of its contents and lays it on the floor between me and the adult that's insulting me. She leaves us two alone again.

Looking down, it's all the pranks that got confiscated from my locker. Prank props I haven't even attempted to use yet.

The adult says, "if you want to start something you just go ahead."

Just the sight of my prank weapons are making me uneasy. All those movies are flashing back. _Ugh!_

"I'm going to be sick," I say, as my knees fall to the floor, looking at all those things that belong to me.

"You're going to be sick, are you?" that adult scorns back at me.

"Yeah, I'm going to be sick," I reply, not sure where to look. I try to get up but he pushes my head back down towards all my possessions. "Please let me get up."

"You want to get up?" he says, "well, now you listen to me. You're going to pick up every joke toy and neatly put them in this rucksack. You hear me?...Go on!" he slams at me. "Pick them up!"

I do. I'm sick of the sight of these things. I zip up everything into the bag. He takes his hold off of me. I hand the bag over.

"Good boy," he says, patting me on the head.

The crowd watch in shock. I hear Miss Rosemary gasp from the audience. This is so humiliating. I can feel myself disappear into darkness, but the stage light is still stuck on me.

The man goes away with my backpack. Okay. I think this is over. I passed the test.

Another woman comes on stage, but, it's not a woman. Not exactly. A girl. I haven't seen an actual girl my age for ages, and she's beautiful.

She moves up to me smiling.

"So," she says, with a flick of her hair, "what do you wanna do?"

I'm stuck. My minds numb. I can't speak. I want to, but I can't. "I wanna..." I start, as I look down, "I think—I need, I need to study."

She walks away back off the stage.

 _Holy Fusion!_ I can't talk to girls anymore. What the hell is this? It's like watching myself fail and I can't stop it from happening. My stomach is boiling up lava. I can barely stop it from coming out.

I heave up dry huffs, almost being sick.

Slicer appears out of nowhere as he pats me on the back. "Not feeling too bad now, are you, TJ?" he asks.

He called me TJ. It's the first time he's ever abbreviated my name. _Wow!_ I feel almost warm inside.

"No, sir," I reply, "I feel really great, sir."

"Good."

"Was it all right, sir? Did I do good?"

"Fine, my boy, absolutely fine," he replies. He turns back to the audience. "You see, ladies and gentlemen, our subject is impelled towards the good by paradoxically being impelled towards behaving badly. The intention to act malevolently is accompanied by strong feelings of physical distress. To counter this, the subject has to switch to a diametrically opposed attitude. Which basically means he has to be well behaved to not constantly feel sick, if that sounded too complicated. Any questions?"

"Choice!" I hear from the crowd. Someone has stood up from the audience. It's Mr Dudikoff. "TJ has no real choice, has he? He has no personality anymore. He has nothing that makes him creatively different anymore. It's only scaring him with physical pain that's drove him to that ridiculous show of embarrassment, we all had to watch. If he ceases to be misbehaved, then he ceases to capture any actual moral choice."

"These are merely subtleties," Slicer replies back to Mr Dudikoff. "We're not concerned with motives or any higher ethics. We are only concerned about cutting down the amount of bad students and cutting down the amount of children thrown into juvenile detentions willy-nilly. We don't want a repeat of last year. Right now he's a good student. He's sick at the very thought of even pulling the wings off a fly. Our methods may be controversial, but what matters is that it works!"

And the audience applaud to that.

And Mr Dudikoff finds his seat again, next to Miss Rosemary, looking defeated.

And the very next day, your friend and now humble narrator, will be a free man.

* * *

 **My world's changed.**

I reach my house and go inside.

"Morning Mom," I greet her, as I reach the kitchen, kissing her on the cheek.

"TJ..." Mom says, looking really mystified by my presence.

"I didn't know what eggs to get, so I just got both the standard and organic," I say, rifling items out of my grocery bag.

Mom shrieks as she drops her cup of coffee. It drops with a loud crack on the floor. Her hand stays hanging in place.

The staircase creaks. Becky and Dad come in.

Becky asks, "what's going on?"

"Mom shrieked when I said I bout some eggs..." I start to explain.

"You bought some what?" Becky asks back in a gasp.

"Oh sorry, I was in a rush. I only had time to get bread, milk, eggs and a newspaper for—"

Dad asks, "me?" stretching his arm out for the paper, still stood at the foot of the door, as if he's scared he might accidentally touch me. "Thanks."

I turn to Becky. "Did you want anything?" I ask her.

"Yeah," Becky replies, "my little brother back."

I hug Becky. It's one-sided. She just stands there. She's probably confused about my smart, shirt and tie combo I'm wearing.

I go over to the fridge.

"TJ?" Mom asks, as she seems to find her voice again.

"Yes Mom," I reply, as I stack the groceries in the fridge.

"Is everything okay?"

Turning around, my family is just standing there staring at me like I'm some stranger whose barged into the house uninvited.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, folding the grocery bag neatly and placing it in the cupboard.

I walk past them all.

Dad asks, "where are you going now?"

"To school," I reply, "I don't wanna be late."

I leave the house with Mom, Becky and Dad still frozen in awe.

I'm going down the street, getting closer to school. I make a sigh. I lean by the special telephone post. Spinelli didn't wait for me at our post at the corner. She left without me. Even when we used to fight at Third street, she'd always wait for me.

I guess, things really have changed.

I go to school by myself.

Entering inside school, there's a big hold up. Every student is lining up once they've gone past the metal detector. They're going through the procedure I went through, but now we're getting something else. We're all getting this silver thing strapped on to our wrists. It's a Sal 4000 bar code restraining bracelet. There's some goths and hypebeasts in particular trying to take them off.

A new teacher tells us that these bracelets get activated as soon as we step into school, and won't allow us to leave within school hours without being alerted and immediately suspended.

It's tutor time. I go to class with Miss Milkie waiting for us all to arrive. We do our roll call.

I look over at my _friends_. I use that word really loosely. Spinelli, Mikey, Molly and Troy don't acknowledge me. Everyone else in class is cool with me. But then again, I didn't push them all into a lake like my best friends.

Tutor comes to a close. Everyone starts to leave. I stay sat on my seat.

Molly comes up to me. "TJ, this isn't my—" she starts to say, as Troy stops her, making her move through the door to go to their first lesson.

It looks like my ex-best friends have initiated a lock out.

I'm the last student in class. I gather my backpack and get up. Miss Milkie, moving away from her desk, gets to the door and stops.

"TJ?" she asks me, leaning against the door.

"Yes Miss?" I reply, halting, with her blocking the door in-front of me.

"I was there yesterday," she says, hesitantly, sweeping her brunette hair. "I saw what they did to you...what _he_ did to you. I've been speaking to some of the teachers, you know, the lack of the better word, the nice ones, and we were disgusted. It was so wrong. So disgusting. We can make a union to try and stop this and—"

"There's nothing you can do, Miss."

Miss Milkie takes a pause, she's almost trembling. "You're usually so vocal in class, and now they've obviously changed you into something you're not," she says.

"I've got class now," I say, grabbing the door knob.

"You _can_ talk to me," she says, leaning her body on the door.

"Thanks Miss."

She moves away. I leave tutor class.

Throughout the day, I'm noticing more and more of the effect Slicer's reign.

Classes are at least an hour long again. Lessons are the correct curriculum. There's a guard tower outside. Everything fun has been removed. The indoor climbing and the slides are completely gone. Study hall have textbooks again. No video games. No comic books.

At lunch, I'm eating alone in the cafeteria. A sign that's up says, 'no sugar allowed.' The food that we're offered is not completely terrible, but it doesn't taste great either. All the sweets and soda cans are being confiscated and thrown together into a bunch. It's crazy. Just a huge pile of delicious sugary food in the middle of the cafeteria right there just taunting us. No doubt the punishment for being caught with sugar would be a suspension.

It's the end of school. People are having their after school activities. I choose to spend my time staying behind to catch up on my work. It's kinda essential. I've been concentrating on being principal for too long.

I can't. I just can't concentrate. I know studying is important, but I still need my friends. The back of throat clogs up and it aches. I feel so bad. So alone. Those middle school feels are rushing back.

I leave back out of study hall, and head outside.

What the—?

Spinelli, Vince, Menlo, Mikey, Gretchen and Molly are there waiting for me. I walk up to them.

Spinelli looks down at my chest. "Nice tie, Teej," she says. "I should strangle you with it."

"Yeah," Vince says, "I didn't know today was picture day."

Molly smiles saying, "or you mean, try-to-keep-clean-as-long-as-possible-without-being-hit-with-water-balloons-and-flour day."

Mikey tells her, "we had a _dirt-clod_ one."

I didn't think they would be talking to me, or at least, I thought they'd be too busy with their own things right now. That must mean their ditching their after school clubs for me.

Spinelli studies my puzzled face. "We're taking you back, dunder head," she says, knocking my head with her knuckles. "I think you've learned your lesson. Besides, Slicer's done more damage to you than we _ever_ could."

"Yeah," Molly says, hugging me tight and then letting me go. "Cutting you out of our group. It wasn't my idea."

"Thanks," I reply to her and the rest of them. "I don't deserve friends like you guys."

Spinelli says, "we know," as she hits me on the arm.

Vince and Mikey put their arms around me. We walk together down the sidewalk. I'm overwhelmed. We make our way to the Townsedge mall.

We're talking together again like nothings happened. It definitely feels like as we grow up, it's getting more difficult to forgive each other.

As we go back and forth chatting, the gang suggests that we should figure out a way to stop Dr Slicer.

"I'm all for it," I say.

"That's great!" Vince says, bawling his fists in a small celebration. "Because, all _our_ ideas are duds."

"Gretch?" I ask her.

Gretchen shakes her head. "I'm all execution rather than an idea gal, such as yourself," she says. She puts a hand out in an apology. "The _idea part_ , not you being a girl—"

"It's okay," I say, "I get it."

Everyone starts scheming. I can't hide from it. I realize I've been moved back into the middle. They suggest _pranks_ and that mere mention of the word makes me shiver, and not in a good way.

"I can't," I say.

"What?" Gretchen says, "we can't possibly organize a prank operation without you."

"Don't say that word."

Mikey asks, "operation?"

Spinelli looks skeptical. "Did they go to town on your organs and turn you into a geek from the inside out?" Spinelli asks me, as she looks at Menlo, as she flicks his tie. "No offense."

"No, not _that_ word," I say.

Menlo asks, "prank?"

Images flood into my mind. I nod my head.

We head into the arcade.

I can hear it. The Ultra Box music. The Ultra box infinity has been moved into the arcade. It's new. It's on stand by on it's home screen. I think I'm gonna puke. Joysticks are being whacked. My heads rolling. Buttons pressed in combos. Blood splattered on my face.I spin around on the spot with all the games messing up my head. I scream out loud, shutting my ears with my hands for dear life.

I hear Mikey ask everyone, "what's eating _him_?" as I run out of the arcade again.

I can sense someone else follow behind me.

Reaching outside, I lean my hand on a wall. I puke on the side. Coughing up a little more sick.

A handkerchief is offered in-front of me. I look up. It's Menlo.

"Thanks, man," I reply, taking it and wiping my lips.

I stand back up straight. I stare at Menlo for a while. He doesn't look fazed by this. Almost as if he's all to familiar with the site of this. Or at least, he's seen a sever panic attack before.

"Menlo?" I ask him, "you know when Prickly changed you—?"

"I think so..." Menlo replies, unsure.

"How did you snap out of it?"

Menlo sighs and leans against the wall with me. We look like a pair with our smart shirt and ties together.

"I don't know if snapping out of it is the right word, or even _the_ word for it," he replies. "I never really did. I grew up super hyperactive with ADHD, and I needed to change. It's almost like, the teachers and the Ritalin stripped me away from what I really was, but, it's okay because, _I'm okay_ now, you know, for the most part."

I walk away from Menlo, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

"If you're looking for a cure!" Menlo says, making me stop in my stride, "there isn't one!"

I look off in the distance.

"Where are you going?" Menlo asks.

"I've got a little moping to do," I reply, as I walk off by myself.

This is gonna take some time getting used to.

I didn't forget it. Slicer really does have a PHD in discipline with a minor in punishment. This is all sucks. I'm trying to be myself, but everyone's acting like I'm different. I'm an outcast, but I don't even know that I am. And anything I do with my friends instantly makes me wanna gag.

I need a drink.

I walk up to where the Quicko mart and Kelso's meet. It's almost as if these two stores are telling me something. Like a metaphor or some crud like that. Grow up, study, avoid having fun, mature and go to the Quicko mart. Or, try to fight this sickness, love pranks, video games, remain spontaneous, childish and go to Kelso's.

Turning back around, I sit on the curb with the two stores behind me.

Weighing my decisions. Weighing the entire world on my head.

I look up at the beautiful sky.

I hang my head down at the gutter.

**[PLAY SONG "Mac DeMarco - Passing out the pieces" AT THIS POINT]**


End file.
